


Soldier Boy

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Loss of Limbs, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2020-10-10 18:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Klaus returned from Vietnam feeling a bit like a ghost, covered in dirt and blood, and all but dragging himself back to the Academy. It probably would have been easier to drag himself the way, too, what with a shoddy 70s prosthesis replacing his right leg.Who has time for the apocalypse when it seems like the worst has already happened?





	1. My Body Is War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was fast, am I right? 
> 
> Made a oneshot with this idea, now I’m making it a fic. Oneshot is called ‘All That Remains’ if you’re interested.

He fell off the bus in a heap. The briefcase which had simultaneously made and broke his life into pieces fell from his grasp before him, tumbling onto the pavement, and was quickly followed by his own body, tripping over himself like a clumsy marionette doll whose strings were all tangled up in knots. He only had a second to twist his hips and catch himself in a way that wouldn't send him blind with agony, catching himself on his good knee and his hands before he let himself collapse in a heap. 

The change was jarring. Going from a hot, dark tent in Vietnam to a bus in the city he hadn't been to in over ten months was overwhelming. The sounds of the cars were odd, the looks of all the streets were unfamiliar, and the bell on the bus made him jump. The rough pavement beneath his hands was odd when he had been so used to dirt and mud, and his nails, caked up with dirt and blood, left smears along it as he scratched at the floor. He looked left and right, eying the road, the busy streets, the people giving him odd looks. He didn't care about them. 

He hadn't been here in over ten months. It all felt so unfamiliar, so overwhelming, so foreign. Even seeing English on the signs around was a shocker compared to familiarising himself with Vietnamese when they had leave. The clothes, the lights, all of it. Unfamiliar. Wrong. 

Oh, how his whole body ached. His bones were sores, right down to their marrow, and his skin still burned to the touch, remnants of the fever that had seized him since the attack. It left him breathless and trembling, his stomach reeling. It seemed as if the walk to the briefcase and the tumble off the bus had taken all his energy, and it very well may have. The last few weeks had seen him in a feverish haze in a cot, delirious and incoherent. He could only truly remember the last week which had also been spent in a cot, simply more coherent. Terribly aware of his situation and unable to do anything. Dave's blood had dried on his hands, and his body, or the remnants of it, had been collected in his time incoherent. And he had brushed his fingertips against death's door himself, and it was nothing short of a miracle that he was still alive.

Klaus thought he shouldn't be. Why, why, why should he be alive? When Dave didn't get to be? Why should he be alive only to suffer the fate of war? He didn't want to be, he realised, but stuck in that tiny, dark tent, there was nothing else he could do but take up his briefcase and hope he returned to a once-familiar time. Only now it felt very unfamiliar, very unwelcoming. 

His fingers left smears of red across its smooth leather as he scrambled to hold it, to dig his nails into it and leave crescent moon marks in it. This thing had led him to best and worst part of his life. He hated it. He hated it, he hated Hazel and Cha-Cha, he hated Five for bringing them after him, hated his family for not noticing he had been missing and allowed him to be tortured and sent to war, and because even with a fucking missing leg, they wouldn't notice. Wouldn't care.

The tears fell strong and fast, a steady stream running down his cheeks, parting through dirt and grime. He keened, a high sound in the back of his desert-dry throat, and he slammed it onto the ground, then again, then threw it violently away from him with a yell. He hated it. He hated it. He hated it. 

He only had one place to go, though, in this moment. And that was further into the city. 

What once would be second nature, the action of standing up took him several minutes now. He pulled himself to the nearby bus stop bench, sat on it, then went onto his feet from there. He clung to it until he was balanced, and his hand only left it when it was truly out of reach, and then it went to the next nearest surface or object to steady himself.

It hurt. It hurt so much. Each step with his right leg was unbalanced and misjudged, too long a stride, too short, too wide, his 'foot' catching something on the floor he couldn't feel until it was too late, his thigh burning fiercely, begging for a break. He kept going. His teeth chattered together, his arms wrapped around his thin torso. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, his body covered in a sheen of it all, and his vision seemed to dip in and out. He found himself stumbling away from the bus stop, and when he blinked he was in his street. His mouth tasted of copper and bile.

How long had it been? Had a single day passed since he went to Vietnam? Or just an hour? Had his family noticed? He already knew the answer to that.

He felt like a zombie as he staggered down the street, swaying as if he was drunk, one hand gliding over the buildings to his side to steady him. The academy stood tall and towering, unchanged, just as unwelcoming as ever. He hated that this was the only place he could return to, but he had dug that hole himself. And god, he just needed a safe place at the moment. He wanted four walls around him that didn't threaten to collapse, cave, and crumble around him. 

But it had been in this place that he had been kidnapped, too.

It was the best he had. He left a red hand print on the door as he nudged it open - with his left hand, because shrapnel had cut his right hand and it ached with phantom pains even after it had healed - and he staggered inside. It was quiet, the silence deafening. It only emphasised the way his blood roared in his ears, and how his ears rang with the lingering gunshots. In fact, his right ear hadn't stopped ringing since the bomb that had crippled him. He wondered if that would be permanent. It had lessened slightly over the weeks, yes, but it was still there. He had already lost a leg, what more was an ear, though?

It was too clean, was what he thought of the academy. Too pristine. Marble floors and pillars and chandeliers. There were still shards on the floor from the chandelier that had fallen when Hazel and Cha-Cha had attacked, so surely he hadn't been gone that long from this time line, apparently. No dust was collecting, and Allison's spare coat was still hung up, and so was Diego's, so at least Diego was in. The only noise, though, that echoed around the room came from his prosthetic, the little tap, tap, tap it created with each staggered step. 

He looked into the living room. Empty, except for the ghosts in the family portraits. The children that smiled fake smiles at him were unrecognisable, and especially the imposter that pretended to be himself. The man that kid had grown up to be had died, and he wasn't sure when. In his first overdose? The second? That time he hit his head in jail? In Vietnam? Who knew, but at that very moment, he felt extremely like a ghost. A shell of himself wandering here, unseen, unheard, lost, forever to wander alone and confused. He didn't feel real. He hadn't felt real since he turned Dave over and saw a gaping wound in his chest, heard him choke on his own blood, and felt him stop breathing beneath him, saw the fear and pain in his eyes. 

He could see it all now, burned into the back of his eyelids. It made his breath stutter in his lungs, and his eyes burned. 

He turned away from the living room, turned to face forwards. A large set of stairs stood in front of him, mocking, infuriating. Walking in a straight line had been hard enough. 

His hand clung to the banister. He hopped his left foot up, then hurried to take the weight off his right thigh. He went up another one, then another, then another. Two more had him shaking, his knuckles white around the banister. His hips ached and he feared that if he tried another step, he'd be sent tumbling right to the bottom. He lowered himself down slowly until he was sitting on the stairs, right leg and prosthetic stretched out, left leg curled up, and he stared at his blood stained fingers. Whose blood even was it? It had dried right into the cracks of his skin, right beneath his nails and into his arm hair. Was it his? Dave's? Someone else's entirely?

He wanted Dave. He wanted Dave so badly it hurt. It felt as if Dave was the only person who had ever truly understood him. He wanted Dave; wanted his smile and his hands and his eyes, the soft southern lilt to his words. He wanted Dave to talk about his family back home, and the pets he had, the farm he had worked on, and the farm they were going to get together after the war, and all the dogs and the cats they were going to get, and the way he had made such stupid jokes that had Klaus' stomach hurting.

Klaus' eyes screwed shut, and he placed his hand over his right cheek, right where Dave liked to place his cheek whenever he leaned in just before he kissed him. His thumb brushed along his own cheekbone, more prominent than it was before the attack. His cheek felt wet. 

The stairs dug uncomfortably into his ribcage, but he was still so far from the top. When standing in itself was a struggle, how was he supposed to reach the top? God, he was pathetic. An utter wreck, his shoulders shaking with barely restrained sobs, and he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop himself.

He placed his hands upon the step above him, then brought his hips up to it to sit on it, then repeated the process, dragging himself up the staircase like he might drag himself through mud in 'Nam, only this felt much more exhausting, somehow. He left small smears of blood and dirt behind his touches, marring the pristine marble.

He swallowed down bile by the time he reached top. Laying flat on his back, the ceiling swirled far above his head, and his chest heaved for breath. He felt like he might die. He couldn't find it in himself to turn around, let alone get up and walk the distance to his bedroom. His eyelids fluttered. This was... this was it. As good as he'd get for now. His eyes didn't open again. 

Something nudged his side. A toe, he realised. He startled, because sarge was going to yell at him for sleeping in again - except he wasn't going to. Because Klaus hadn't seen sarge since he was brought back for medical care, and he wasn't in Vietnam or 1969 anymore. His eyelids felt heavy, but the nudging was persistent, and he had to loll his head towards it and peer out at the nuisance.

Five was there, crouched by his side, elbows on his knees and his mouth in a tight line, eyebrows pinched. He waved his hand in front of Klaus' face, and Klaus recoiled slightly.

"What happened?" Five asked, and his eyes took him in and the sure mess he must be, shaking and sweating, covered in filth and grime and blood and soot. 

"What?" Klaus croaked. So much had happened. So much. Five gave him a look.

"You're hurt," he stated, and it was very much an understatement. He wasn't _hurt, _he was in _agony._

"Leave me 'lone," Klaus muttered. He closed his eyes again, because he was oh so tired, and he only needed a little longer and then he'd get up and out of the way. Five flicked his cheek. 

"Why are you in army fatigues?" 

Klaus stared at him with a dead eyed look. "Please, just leave me alone." He forced himself onto his elbows, a groan escaping his lips. 

"Why did you crawl up the stairs?"

Five rose to his feet as Klaus sat up, fumbling to grab the nearby banister. He brought his right leg in front of him, stretched out straight, and got onto his left knee. Grabbed the banister with white knuckles, but made no move to get any further up. He stared blindly over the banister, idly eying the traces of blood and dirt he had left from the door up to where he was now.

"Your leg's broken," stated Five. Hidden beneath the fatigues he wore, the prosthetic wasn't overly obvious. Not when Klaus was already skinny and the pants hung off him anyway. 

"No," he replied, quiet.

"You've time travelled."

Klaus twitched. Five let out a sigh. "Where? Or, really, when?" 

Was that all he cared about? Not that Klaus was clung to a banister and shaking like a leaf, or covered in grime and looking thirty pounds lighter than he was three days ago, to him. He laughed, because of course. "Nineteen-sixty-eight," he uttered. With a groan, he heaved himself upright.

"How?" Five asked, and a unhealthy intensity suddenly burned in his eyes. He looked, for a moment, quite like Klaus used to when he first did cocaine. "Briefcase?" Klaus nodded. "Where is it? Where did you put it? Klaus -"

"Five," Klaus interrupted. He had forgotten about the apocalypse. Five clearly hadn't. Perhaps he hadn't lied when he told Klaus about it all that time ago. If he was true, then he had forty, fifty odd years of obsessing over it. Maybe he truly was obsessed with it. "Please. Not now. Just... just leave me alone." He waved him off and made to stagger around him, eyes locked onto his bedroom door. Ben was in the doorway, eying him in shock, and Klaus stumbled right through him. His prosthetic caught the carpet and he tripped, heart leaping into his throat, and he only miraculously managed to catch himself on his bed, panting at the pain it tore through him. He clutched his bedsheets until the pain wore off, and then he rolled into his bed with a moan of relief. He put his head onto his pillow, pulled his duvet over himself, and curled his fists into the sheets.

He wanted desperately a bath, to wash off all the dirt and blood off himself, but he felt so exhausted. He couldn't imagine himself getting up and going into the bathroom any time soon. The best he could do was pull his shirt off and drop it on the floor in a heap, then did the same with his pants, leaving them a dirty pile on the floor. Without them, he could stare right at the prosthesis, at the straps around his thigh, the way his skin moulded off into it. He was too scared to take it off. At least he could _pretend _that his thigh didn't end abruptly. He could pretend it wasn't real, what happened wasn't real. He could ignore the scars up his hip from the fire that had burn him, and he could ignore the way his hand ached with phantom pains and how his grip wasn't as strong, and how his ear rang continuously. He could overlook that all. He couldn't overlook the fact that his leg ceased to exist.

"Klaus..."

He could also ignore Ben. He had gotten incredibly good at that over the years. 

Five, surprisingly, didn't push. He didn't follow him into his bedroom or continue to question him, for once, but then again, he was simply _Klaus. _Klaus got himself into situations where he turned bruised and bloody and moody, nothing more than a nuisance. If he didn't seem to be of any help, then he didn't matter. And all he wanted was to sleep at the moment. And, preferably, to never wake up. If he did, then he hoped that he would wake up, preferably before they got sent to the front lines, back with Dave that night they sat outside the village, cheeks flushed with whiskey, and Dave had tried to teach him how to stargaze.

His shoulders shook again, and he buried his face into his blankets. 

Had he not done enough, he thought. What had he done that made these things happen to him? Had the stairs not been so exhausting, he might be tempted to get up and go again before any other siblings might see him and make his life worse. But all he wanted was somewhere safe to rest, a secure four walls around him. Even if he wasn't in a warzone any longer, he felt no safer. He felt like the walls around him might explode and crumble around him nonetheless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this first part, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I greatly appreciate it and I love hearing your thoughts! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @veteranklaus.


	2. Called Your Name 'Till The Fever Broke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted a Grace mom hug this chapter but remembered that she was still 'dead' during the beginning of the chapter in the canon timeline which was really :( unfortunate

Klaus peeled his eyes open. He felt gross. Too hot and yet shivering beneath his sweat-dampened covers. He threw the covers off him and his tense muscles groaned in protest as he propped himself up on his elbows, stretching slightly. Something moved to his right and he glanced over. Ben stood by his window and Klaus grimaced at the look on his face. He took slow steps closer to him, tentative, like how one might approach a wild dog. "Klaus," he said.

"Ben," Klaus replied. His throat felt dry and scratchy, desperate for some water, and he coughed to try and clear it slightly. Ben looked conflicted, torn between what to say. He approached, standing at the edge of the bed. 

"What _happened_, Klaus?" He asked. "Where - where did you go?"

Klaus grimaced and looked away. "It was... uh, it was a time machine," he stated. He sat up, hunching in on himself slightly. "Took me to, ah, nineteen-sixty-eight."

"Nineteen-sixty-eight?" Ben echoed. Klaus nodded. He brought his shaking hand up to his face, running it through his hair and pushing it back. He desperately needed a bath but his entire body felt like it would after they had marched all night in the rain. It seemed that the walk back to the Academy had really done him in, for he felt so tired, his legs aching distantly. "Klaus... what happened to..." He stuttered over his words, his voice rough. "What happened to your _leg_?"

Klaus looked down at it. Littered in little scars from shrapnel and flames, moulding off into an artificial leg. He ran his hand over it, and he hated it. It didn't look at all like his leg, of course, didn't feel like it at all and, of course, he couldn't feel it. He touched where his knee used to be and he didn't feel it. He squeezed the false calve and didn't feel it. Raked his dirty nails over the ankle and he did not feel it all. If he were to take it off, the stump beneath would be tender, scar tissue dark pink and puffy. He was sure that in most cases one would have to stay in the hospital for much longer than he had stayed in that little medical tent, let alone after having the surgery he did. It wasn't as refined back then, in the late 60s. Not as precise as it was in the present, not as clean. For all he knew, the wound still had a chance of being infected, or of rotting and decaying, of killing him. He didn't know.

"Nineteen-sixty-eight, Vietnam," he murmured. "Bomb, I think. Or a mine. I can't really remember. It... happened very fast."

"_Klaus_."

"I know."

"How did you get back?" Ben asked. He blinked rapidly and Klaus wondered if a ghost could feel its own tears.

"Walked, a bit. The stairs..." He cleared his throat. "Were harder."

Ben swallowed and nodded. He sat on the edge of the bed carefully, and the two of them just stared at the prosthesis between them as if it might grow back into his real leg. It didn't.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Ben uttered. Klaus shrugged. Sorry wouldn't bring his leg back. It wouldn't bring Dave back. It wouldn't fix this mess. 

"I need a bath," Klaus said. He didn't make a move to stand, though.

"I can't help you." And Ben sounded so sad at that, too. He looked guilty and pained, and slightly dazed as if he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the situation. That was fine, though. Klaus couldn't really, either. 

He had to use his hands to lift the leg and place it over the edge of the bed, and he put all his weight on his left leg as he stood up slowly, hands clutching at the side table by his bed. His whole body rejected the idea of putting his right leg forwards, of taking a single step. He bit his lip and began. 

His walking consisted majorly of leaning his body against other things so he could just rely on his left leg. It was hard to judge where to place his right leg, hard to trust in the prosthesis, too sore to put all his weight on it. He kept his eyes on the floor, watching where to put each foot to avoid tripping up on something. Eventually, though, he made it to the bathroom where he sat on the edge of the tub, body shaking with exertion. He took a moment to compose himself before he reached for the taps, turning on the hot water and plugging the tub. He turned to the prosthesis, running his fingers over it before he set out on slipping it off. He didn't know much about first aid, but he was sure that keeping the stump clean was probably a very important thing. The water rose up, tumbling noisily into the tub, and steam drifted off of the surface. He tested the temperature with his finger, and then slowly lowered himself into the tub after throwing his boxers aside. It burned slightly, but so pleasantly. The water enveloped his body, chasing away his bone deep chill. His fingers sought out one of the body sponges which he doused in Allison's body wash, and he began scrubbing away layers of dirt and grime and blood from his arms and hands. 

He found that his right hand, try as he might, continued to shake more so than his left. Holding slightly heavy things with his hand left him feeling like he'd been writing essays for hours and he couldn't do it for long. The water stung the palms of his hands, too, from where he had continuously held onto things and caught himself when falling, and there was a little scar through his _HELLO _tattoo from the shrapnel in Vietnam, although it had mainly caught the back of his hand, leaving a dark but healed scar along his skin. He scrubbed away dirt and dried blood and picked at his nails, clasped water in his palms and ran it down his face and over his head. He took a shampoo he assumed was also Allison's and pumped a generous amount onto his hands, then scrubbed it into his scalp. He washed it all off and stared down at the water, turned a disgusting grey-brown, and the rippled view of his thighs beneath the water. He ran his fingers down his left leg until he was stretching to reach his ankle, then brought his hand to his right thigh. If he thought hard enough, he was sure he could still feel it. Still feel his knees knocking together, his ankles crossed over the rim of the tub, his toes pressed against the tiled wall. And then his body ached in a limb that didn't exist anymore, and he flinched and rested his head in his hands. 

He stayed in the bath until he felt clean once more and until the water went cold, and only then did he pull out the plug and sit up. His hands went to the nearby towel holder, and came back empty. When he peered over, no new towels had been hung up yet, but rather they were still folded and sitting nearby the sink a few paces away. He stared at them and his eyes suddenly burned. Putting the prosthetic on while still wet didn't seem like it was a good idea, not while the wound was still so tender and vulnerable, and the towels felt as if they might as well have not been there at all. Without the warm water around him, he felt freezing, now, sitting in the empty tub with frigid drops of water sliding down his body, and he had no motivation to get up.

He didn't understand why he felt so drained. He had rode out the majority of the illness that came after the wound, had had rest not long ago, and, realistically, the towels weren't that far. He didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to get up, to shuffle towards them and back, or why it made him want to cry and scream and throw things all of a sudden. He curled his hands into his wet hair and tugged, grinding his teeth together. It was just a towel. Why was he so _upset? _So _angry_?

He wanted Dave. Damnit, he just wanted Dave, because Dave was so good with his words, and even if he wasn't his mere presence and touch was comforting enough. The way he touched his shoulders would melt all the tension from them, and the way he cupped his face made him feel like something worthy of love, someone who could be loved, who was loved, and for the time being he could convince himself that they weren't in a warzone and he could be happy. But Dave was dead, and gone, and gone, and gone, and gone, and gone. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes as he spluttered for breath, chest heaving. 

Someone knocked the door. Knuckles rolling across the wood, and he jumped, biting his hand to stifle a sound. 

"Klaus? That you in there?" Diego called out. Klaus hesitated and said nothing, and the door handle shifted slightly. "Please tell me you haven't drowned again. The door rule still applies." 

"I - I know," Klaus croaked. " 'm fine. Go away."

There was no response and Klaus wondered if he had gone away. Then he spoke up again. He sounded conflicted, as if he was debating whether or not to open such a can of worms that was Klaus and his problems. "You have to keep the door open," he said. Klaus looked at himself, naked in the bath, moving to grip the rim of the tub tight enough it made his arms shake. Normally, he might make some kind of comment, some sexual joke, but all of them died in his throat. "Klaus?"

"Leave me alone." Hardly a whisper. The door opened an inch. "Don't!"

"I'm going out, Klaus," Diego said, just outside the door. "Five's going out soon and I... I need to do something." Since when did he feel the need to tell Klaus? Klaus bit.

"Do what?"

Diego inhaled. "I'm going to fuh-fuh" he paused, inhaling again sharply, "_find _the people who shot up the house."

Klaus sighed. He wondered, though, how finding the intruders was such a stressful situation for Diego that it brought out his stutter. His mind briefly went back to the police woman who had shown up to save him. A friend? 

"Okay," he replied. Diego lingered. Then, quietly;

"Do you want to come with me?"

Klaus closed his eyes. He must not have responded, for Diego opened the door slightly. "Klaus?"

The 'bathroom rule' had been introduced since Klaus had started using baths as a time to get high and be undisturbed, but had been found one time when he fell asleep in the bath after getting high and he had almost drowned. Since, the door had had to stay open so that they could see whether or not he was once more passed out and drowning. Klaus wondered if Diego said it now in fear of Klaus shooting up there. He had moved on from weed since his teenage years, after all.

A part of him didn't want Diego to go. For himself and for Diego; Hazel and Cha-Cha were tough. He only slipped free of them because of a miracle, and Diego, if he was rushing in after his dead friend, would be so reckless, and he'd get himself hurt. They'd kill him. They didn't need him alive. 

"Five said you were hurt."

"Leave me alone."

"Can I come in?"

Klaus bit his lip. He stared at the door, slightly ajar. He knew Diego had seen him in worse states - or, no, he hadn't. He didn't think he'd ever looked much worse than he did now. Diego had simply seen him horrendously drunk, horrifically high, and unashamedly naked, and usually all three at the same time. 

"You don't want to," he stated.

"Are you high?"

"Not yet." He didn't know where his nearest stash was, and he didn't have the energy to look for it. The door opened, and Diego stood in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow at Klaus, then his eyebrows drew together. He probably couldn't see the real injury from where he stood, but in the weeks following the injury he had hardly eaten unless forced to, and he was bordering emaciated. Considering the fact that, to Diego, he had only been gone - what? - a couple days, and that weight loss simply wasn't possible in that time frame. Diego visibly recoiled in shock, and Klaus looked away, corner of his lips curling up ever so slightly in a bitter smile.

"What happened to you?" Diego asked. 

"Not much," Klaus stated sarcastically. He pointed a shaking finger at the towels near him. Diego picked one up, then turned back to Klaus. He raised an eyebrow and tipped his head towards the old prosthetic limb resting against the tub, giving him a questioning look. Klaus just stared at him and held his hand out for the towel. 

"Where have you been?" He asked. 

"Got kidnapped," said Klaus. "By the people who shot up the house. I've been a bit busy." 

Diego's head tipped to the side. "What?"

"They took me because they couldn't find Five." His voice changed from monotone to bitter, then. Hours he had spent in that motel room, having cigarettes put out on him, belts lashed against him, being waterboarded, all because he didn't know where Five was. "For hours. Beat the shit out of me, actually, but I didn't know where Five was. That wasn't good enough, though, not for them. Barely got away."

Diego hesitated in his steps. Klaus held out his hand for the towel. 

"And what's the part you're not telling me about?" He asked. 

"I stole something of theirs," said Klaus. Diego averted his eyes when he got close enough to drop the towel into his grasp, then stepped back, and Klaus began to towel dry his face and his arms. Klaus wondered how long he could uphold a conversation with less than half a leg. "A time machine. Didn't know it was that at the time, of course. Thought it might have some... some money, or something."

"You time travelled?"

"Yup."

"When?"

"Nineteen-sixty-eight."

"Shit," Diego uttered, then narrowed his eyes. "What happened? How... long were you there for?"

"I wasn't in America," Klaus said. "I opened the briefcase and got sent somewhere else. Late 60s, right in Vietnam. In the middle of that war."

Diego looked like he didn't really believe him. Klaus could only smile sardonically. "You were in war?" He asked.

"Oh, yeah." Klaus' head bobbed in a nod, and it didn't lift back up. He stared at the floor by Diego's feet. "Front lines."

Diego's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Klaus nodded silently. He saw action. So much action. Ten months of bloodshed flashed against his eyelids in a split second, ending as his world did a few seconds before something had exploded to his right. 

Diego's hand waved in front of his line of sight and he blinked. The ground morphed from dirt to bathroom tiles again and he blinked harder. Klaus suddenly didn't want to get out the bath. He set the towel on the side, plugged the tub again, and reached for the taps. His hand fell still on top of it, not yet turning it. He knew if he ran it again he simply wouldn't get out, and walking - hopping? - to the bathroom had already made him so tired. He just wanted to collapse into bed again. He turned to Diego, who had gravitated closer to the door but not quite left.

"Diego," he said, calling him back before he could quite reach the door. He held out a hand that trembled slightly in the air. He wondered if he would ever stop shaking. He doubted it.

"Yeah?" Diego asked, eying his hand and coming closer.

"I... I need help, Diego," said Klaus, and his throat felt tight. He and Diego had been close, once. Extremely close. Best friends as children, a chaotic duo. Diego had asked Klaus to leave the Academy with him all those years ago, and he'd been there more than the others had been, for longer than the others, and in this moment he needed his brother more than he thought he ever had. 

Diego slid closer to him, close enough to slide his hand into Klaus', who, in return, tightened his fingers around his hand like a vice like death grip. His hand was warm, steady, something alive and solid and grounding, but nothing like Dave's had been. If he expected Klaus to cling so desperately to his hand, he didn't show it. 

"What is it, Klaus?" His voice had gone so serious. It was almost touching. He did still care. 

"I can't get out of this bath, Diego." His brother's eyes narrowed slightly as he eyed Klaus. "I was in a war. I..." He couldn't find the words, so he simply looked down at where the towel he had tied around his hips, almost covering the entire remaining thigh, and his hand brushed the towel up slightly, his fingers curling tentatively over the stump. Diego's eyes followed, and his hand twitched in Klaus', suddenly going tense.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Silence stretched out around them, save for that continuous ringing in Klaus' right ear. Diego swallowed audibly.

"K-K-_Klaus_," he stammered. "What do you - what do you mean?" 

"It was war, Diego," he uttered. "Just help me, please."

Diego's tongue dashed out across his lips and he avoided his gaze, blinking a few times. "Of course," he croaked. "Shit. Yeah. Yeah." He scrubbed his free hand down his jaw, and then Klaus shifted to put his left foot beneath him. Diego came closer, right up to the edge of the porcelain, and he hesitated uncertainly for a moment before he reached out. Klaus held onto his forearms as he stood, steadying himself carefully, and then he stared at the floor on the other side and huffed a breath. 

"Sit - sit on the edge," said Diego. "And swing over." His voice was rough, his muscles tense, and Klaus twisted slightly perch himself on the edge of the tub. His grip on Diego tightened, nails digging into his jumper, and Diego uttered an "I've got you" while Klaus brought his legs over. Then he leaned on Diego as he slid off the edge and onto his foot. His foot, still wet from the bath, slid slightly, though Diego hardly let him fall. His heart went pounding away though and he shook his head.

"Just put me down, put me down, Diego, put me down," he hurried to say, body shaking, and he and Diego sunk to the floor were Klaus struggled for several moments to compose himself. He was fine. Diego wouldn't let him fall. He was fine. He was fine.

"Do... do you need that?" Diego asked quietly. Klaus' eyes flicked to the prosthetic and he nodded.

"Need to dry it first," he murmured. He closed his eyes and took a steady breath in, then turned his attention to the towel around his hips. He dabbed and rubbed his leg gently, in a kind of robotic movement, and then he reached aside for the leg. Diego watched him fumble with it, sliding it on, and then he swallowed.

"Klaus..." 

His gaze flicked towards his brother but whatever he wanted to say was lost and he stayed silent, turning his gaze away. Klaus held out his hands when he was done, and Diego stood, then took Klaus' hands again, and patiently helped him upright. This time he could use Diego for leverage as they left the bathroom, heading towards Klaus' bedroom, but the pace was agonisingly slow. Diego lowered him back onto his bed and watched Klaus use his hands to lift the leg onto the mattress and under the covers that he eagerly pulled over his body, right up to his chin.

Diego lingered. The bed squeaked as he sat on it. "Are... are you okay?"

Klaus curled his fingers into the bed covers. He stared at the wall opposite him, his back to Diego. 

"I'm sorry," whispered Diego. Klaus bit his tongue. He reached a hand out from the covers and Diego's found his, and Klaus clung to it. He screwed his eyes shut once more and tried to ignore the way they stung, but he had no energy to waste on even more tears. He tried, instead, to focus on Diego, warm and alive and present, unlike the ghosts that lingered in his mind. He realised, with some detached horror, that the men that he had spoke to less than twenty four hours ago, were likely all dead. Long dead, too. Despite speaking to them all hours ago. He was a walking ghost of history, images of a war decades ago fresh in his mind. All the men he fought with, not just Dave, were dead. All of them. Little Johnson, who was too young to see what he had seen, do what he had to do, and Callum, who tried to goof around and keep people happy when they had leave, and the hotels they stayed in were probably gone, probably destroyed. He felt like a large part of his life had just been spat and trampled on, torn from his grasp and destroyed. Did he belong here or there? 

Was this what Five felt like? A walking ghost torn from time? Would he find his name on Vietnam memorials, a lost soldier, or would he be presumed dead from his wounds, lost in the fray? Forced to suffer the immediate and after consequences of his life that happened a lifetime ago, hours ago. 

Dave used to tell Klaus about his mother. A sweet little woman with a fiery soul who would have swapped places with Dave as long as it meant her boy would return home safe. And he never would. He wondered if she had sat in her little farmhouse back home, listening to the radio and waiting for the next letter from Dave when they got leave again, and it wouldn't return, and for days, possibly weeks, she would sit, anxiety eating her out, and then they'd get the message home that her son, her sweet boy, was dead, and he would never come home again. It wasn't just Klaus who had lost him. It wasn't just him Klaus had lost, either. 

Klaus closed his eyes and saw the faces of old ghosts he was never supposed to know about or meet in the first place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No incest rights, they are brothers and best buddies and love one another and klaus needs the comfort and I will be very upset if that is read as incest-y.
> 
> Not gonna lie, writing the ending made me rather sad whoops :(


	3. The Darkness Hums

"He needs to rest."

"I need to talk to him. He's had time to rest - more time than we have to waste."

"Five, I'm serious-"

"So am I, Diego." A hand, skinny and small, grabbed his shoulder and shook him. 

"_Five, _leave him," hissed Diego, and suddenly the hand was gone. Klaus cracked his eyes open to peer at the wall in front of him.

"Go away, Five," he said. 

"Klaus," Five's feet shuffled across the ground. "You time travelled."

"Yup," Klaus uttered. 

"And what did you do with the briefcase?"

"What?"

"The briefcase, Klaus, what did you do with it? Where is it? I need it."

Klaus sat up slightly, enough so that he could twist around to look at Five. Diego was still in the room though he had stood up, almost standing between the two of them. He looked stressed, his face pinched, shoulders tight. "I destroyed it."

Five's eyes blew wide and he blinked. "_What_?"

"I destroyed it. It went up in flames."

Five took a step forwards as if intending to hurt him, and Diego put a hand on his chest, holding him back. "_Why _did you do that?" Five hissed between his teeth. The flash of fear that had sparked in his eyes changed quickly to disbelief and anger, hands balling into fists by his side. Klaus' stomach rolled, and proper anger surged in him briefly. How dare he? It made a bitter laugh fall from his lips and he slid back down in the bed, turning his back to him. 

"Just go away, Five," he said. Five huffed a breath behind him, and he heard him mutter something under his breath before his footsteps retreated from the room, leaving him and Diego alone.

"I'm sorry," said Diego. "He was adamant about talking to you."

Klaus closed his eyes. "Yeah."

"We need to tell the others."

"Whatever."

Diego shifted, then came back and sat on the edge of the bed behind him. "Klaus. Look at me."

"I... I know that this is hard-"

Klaus sat up, turning to glare at Diego. "Really?" He said coldly, anger surging in him. "My fucking leg got fucking _blown off_, and _no one_ noticed that I was missing after our house got _shot up_, and now my leg's fucking gone and Dave's fucking _dead _and I'm still here-" He cut himself off, fisting the sheets beneath his hands until his knuckles turned white. His tongue ran across his teeth and he turned back to Diego. "No shit it's fucking _hard, _Diego." 

He kicked the sheets off him and Diego stood, watching Klaus swing his good leg out of the bed, pulling the prosthesis behind him. It got caught as he tried to stand and he fell, yanking it free but tumbling to the ground and knocking aside a lamp he'd set on the floor.

Diego came to his side, trying to help him up, and Klaus lashed out slapping at his hands and arms and chest. Diego kept blocking his hits easily. "Klaus, stop," he said, then ducked a hit again, pushing his hand away. "Klaus - _Klaus-"_

"Fuck off, Diego! Fuck off!" Klaus yelled, but his attempts at pushing Diego towards the door failed tremendously. Diego caught his wrists and held them together against Klaus' chest. Klaus lashed out a few more times with his foot before eventually just slumping against the ground, his chest heaving and faced screwed up. His breath stuttered in his lungs, making a high pitched noise each time it slid past his lips, until the gasps turned to sobs and he dug his nails into his opposite hand, clasped together in Diego's grip. Diego shifted slightly, sitting down on the floor next to him and letting go of his wrists. He took hold of his arms instead, lifting him off the floor slightly to hold him in a bone crushing hold. It was reassuring, though, grounding, and Klaus curled his fingers into that stupid black jumper he always wore. 

"I-I'm sorry," Diego whispered when Klaus calmed down slightly. 

" 's not your fault," Klaus uttered in response. 

"I'm still sorry. For not noticing you were gone."

"Kind of dug that hole myself though, didn't I?"

Diego snorted slightly but didn't agree with him. Klaus ran his fingertips beneath his eyes, swiping away stray tears. Diego swallowed. "I still think that we need to tell the others, Klaus."

Klaus rolled his eyes and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "What's it matter?"

Diego stared at him. "Do you think you can hide that forever?"

"Five doesn't know yet," Klaus pointed out.

"That's because Five is obsessed with the apocalypse and doesn't stop for a second," Diego replied. "But we need to speak about this."

"What do you want me to say? I got kidnapped while you all thought I was getting high, got sent to the Vietnam war and had my leg blown off? I'm sure that'll go down fucking great."

"Klaus," Diego sighed, scrubbing one hand down his face. 

"I can't even get down the fucking _stairs_, Diego!" He snapped. He brought his hands up to his head, screwing his eyes shut. 

"And I'll help you," Diego stated, then, quieter, "let me help you, bro."

Klaus ducked his head. He remembered Diego's persistence with getting him into rehab, the talks they'd had in which Klaus had seen the rare emotional side of him. He huffed a breath and nodded, and then he lifted his hands up as Diego stood. Diego took his hands and hauled him up, then caught him around the waist. Klaus pointed at the bed and when they moved he tried to depend entirely on his good leg or Diego, and a sigh of relief left his lips when he sat back down. 

"Does it hurt?" He asked. Klaus gave him a look. 

"It always hurts." He looked down, brushed his fingers over where his skin met the prosthesis. It was a steady ache that had yet to leave, but worsened as he tried to walk. And, what with the walk from the bus and back home, it was worse than he could remember it being. He had yet to try and rebuild strength back in the remaining part of his leg, and he probably should have just got a taxi or bus back to the academy. The pain laced up from his thigh, into his hips, of which also hurt, and along his back, and his right arm and hand shook and couldn't hold himself or something heavy up for long, and sometimes it felt as if his right knee was on _fire _despite it not existing anymore. His right ear rang and so far he hadn't really been able to hear Diego whenever he moved to the right. Everything hurt and he wasn't sure that medicine would help. 

He pointed his finger at his wardrobe. "Can you, you know..." He gestured himself, bare save for the towel still clinging to his hips. Diego nodded, opening his wardrobe. 

"What do you want?"

Klaus leaned forwards slightly. He waved his hand vaguely. "Just... the dress. Left. Further left - no, there. That one."

"Isn't this Allison's?"

"It _was. _Keyword being _was._" He reached his hand out for it and Diego handed it over. It was easier to put on, just slipping it over his head, and he didn't have any motivation to tackle pants. He could slip the dress on and discard of the towel, leaving it on the floor. And plus, the dress ended mid-calf and it hid more of the prosthetic.

"Mom might..." Diego trailed off suddenly, eyes glancing away. "There might be some painkillers around, if you want."

Klaus shook his head. "Won't be strong enough, and I'm not putting withdrawals on top of this," he stated. Diego raised an eyebrow.

"You're sober."

Klaus glared at him. "Couldn't walk to the local meth dealer, so no. I got sober."

Diego had the decency to look sorry at that. 

"Do you want me to call Allison and Vanya for a family meeting?" He asked, drifting closer and sitting beside him. 

"You think they'll answer if you call?" 

Diego glared at him. "Yes." 

Klaus shrugged. "Just saying. You weren't exactly welcoming to Vanya."

"She shouldn't have written that book," Diego defended, huffing. "But this is serious. She has to come."

Klaus shrugged. "I don't think it's really necessary."

_"Klaus."_

Klaus raised his hands in defence, then waved them. "Fine. Call them. Do it."

Diego let out a sigh. His eyes lingered on Klaus, and when he spoke again he was quiet. "How long were you there for?" 

Klaus scrubbed his hands down his face, turning to look at the opposite wall. "Like... ten, eleven months," he said with a shrug. Diego's eyes widened.

"Why? Why stay there, Klaus?"

Klaus closed his eyes. He saw Dave, leaning forwards on that bus that first day and introducing himself. He covered his cheek in the same way Dave would as if he could recreate the touch. "Because. Something made me stay."

Diego eyed him for a moment before simply nodding. He stood up. "I'll phone Allison and Vanya, okay?" Klaus nodded ad watched Diego stand, and after a moment he left the room, disappearing outside. With that, Klaus guided his leg back up onto his bed and lay flat on it. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to imagine how it would all go down. Knowing his family, they'd probably come to the conclusion that he had brought it upon himself. 

He wondered, too, if he would ever have come back. If that bomb or mine hadn't exploded, if Dave hadn't gotten shot. Would he have stayed until both he and Dave got sent back home, and would he just leave the briefcase? Let it get blown up, left behind? His hand closed around the dog tags around his neck, thumb running over the name engraved into it. He hadn't had any plans of returning, not even when Dave did die. He had simply tried to go back to the day before, any time before. He would have happily lived out a life with Dave, Umbrella Academy forgotten. He still would.

"They'll help you."

His eyes flicked towards Ben. "How?" He asked sarcastically. Ben came forwards and perched on the edge of the bed.

"They will."

"Like how they did when I was getting the shit tortured out of me?"

Ben sighed. "They didn't know then."

Klaus looked at his window. "Think I could crawl out?"

"Klaus."

"I don't want to deal with this, Ben," he said. "Or them."

"I wouldn't either," replied Ben. Klaus gave him a look. They lapsed into silence and, not for the first time, Klaus wished he could touch Ben. He couldn't, however, so they just sat there until Diego returned. 

"They're on their way."

"Really?" 

Diego nodded, then sat down on top of Ben, who muttered and stood up. "I said it was important. Vanya was on a date."

Klaus raised his eyebrows. "Really? Look at her go." Klaus' fingers toyed with the hem of his dress. "Good for her. 'Bout time. How long?"

"Allison's on her way, she said it'd be ten minutes. Not long for Vanya, either, and I'm sure Five and Luther are still in."

Klaus gently pulled his leg over the edge of the bed and stood, leaning to the left. "It'll take me an hour to get downstairs," he muttered. Diego stood and slid to his side swiftly, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him up against his side. With that, the two staggered towards the door of the bedroom, and then into the hallway at an agonisingly slow pace. 

"How did you get up the stairs?" Diego asked him as they went. By the time they were at the end of the corridor, Klaus was shaking and gritting his teeth. 

"Crawled," he stated under his breath. 

"You crawled up them?" Diego echoed, and he looked sad, then. Klaus grit his teeth and took another step.

"Mhmm. Tried to walk. Too hard."

"Are you okay?”

"Perfect." Klaus grabbed the banister as soon as it was in reach of him. "Just... give me a second." 

"It'd probably be easier if I just carried you, Klaus."

"You're not carrying me," Klaus hissed between his teeth. If there was one thing he wasn't going to lose, it was his dignity. Although he supposed needing help to get out of a bathtub didn't really help him maintain that. "I can do it."

Diego didn't look entirely convinced, but he said nothing. He just waited until Klaus stood a little straighter and wrapped his arm around his shoulders again, and they stood at the top of the stairs.

They looked so much higher than usual, now. If he fell and hit his head, there was no way he'd survive that. Hell, in his current state he doubted he'd have to hit his head for his body to give out already. They were daunting and mocking, and Klaus remembered his fall down them when he was wearing Grace's heels. How he'd not broken his neck was nothing short of a miracle.

They descended them even slower than the pace they'd walked down the hallway with, taking them one at a time, and Klaus' hands cramped from holding the banister and Diego so tightly. No doubt Diego would have finger shaped bruises on him after this, too, but he said not a word, didn't let it show on his face. Each second he had to spend with weight on his stump was a second too long, and he didn't reach halfway down the staircase before he was shaking his head and sitting down. 

Klaus pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, doubled over and wheezing breaths. Then he forced himself to stand once more before he gave up trying at all, and they kept going. 

The door opened before they even reached the bottom of the stairs. Allison's heels clicked against the floor as she came in, hurrying in. "Diego?" She called, then saw the two of them huddled on the stairs. She raised her eyebrows. "What's wrong?" 

"Can you go get Luther and Five for us?" Diego asked. "Family meeting."

Klaus thought that if she just looked a little lower, she'd see it. She didn't, though. There was no reason for her to eye his ankles, after all, but it felt so obvious to him. 

"Uh, sure. Yeah. What about Vanya?"

"On her way. Meet us in the living room." 

Allison lingered for a moment, suspicion in her eyes before she nodded and ascended the stairs, calling their names.

"Are you sure about the painkillers, bro?" Diego asked. Klaus hissed a breath out. He would kill for a hit of anything at that moment, but he couldn't. He didn't reply, focusing on finally reaching the floor. It was a slow shuffle towards the living room and when he finally reached the couch and all but collapsed into it, he almost moaned from sheer relief. He melted into the cushions, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back while Diego saw to Vanya as she entered, calling out, "Diego? I got your call. Is everything alright?"

He thought back to Dave's family, or of what Dave had told him about them. He had two younger sisters, and his father had died in the second world war. His sisters were twenty-three and sixteen at the time, and the older one was a nurse for the army while the younger one wanted to be a teacher. His mother was a strong willed woman whom he always spoke highly of, and he never really mentioned his father. They had lived on a farm and Dave feared that they would have to move because of money issues, his mother unable to work for long. Dave had been determined to get out and see his sisters again, and he had once admitted that he was afraid of the war because he couldn't imagine leaving his family, of not seeing his sister's grow and marry and have their own families. Klaus couldn't remember their names, but he wondered if he would be able to find them if they were still alive. He doubted his mother would be, but his sisters should.

Vanya came into the room. There was a blue flash that made Klaus flinch as Five appeared, and Luther and Allison came in after Diego. Diego sat to his left, eying their siblings.

"Why did you call us here, Diego?" Allison asked. "You said it was urgent. An emergency." She glanced at Klaus, eyes still closed, pale and shaking and sweating. And if only she had looked a little lower. 

"It's about Klaus, isn't it?" Five stated. 

"What's he done?" Asked Luther.

"Love you too," Klaus muttered. Diego sighed and scrubbed his hands down his face. Klaus didn't offer to help approach the subject.

"Spit it out, Diego. I've already wasted time over this," said Five, jaw clenched. 

"Five," Diego hissed, shooting him a glare. "You all know that the people who broke in were after Five," he began. Everyone nodded. "And afterwards, Klaus was... gone."

"Yeah. He left us. No surprise there," said Luther. Klaus laughed, high pitched and airy. He peeled open his eyes to look at Ben, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking solemn. 

"No. He didn't," said Diego, voice cold. "They kidnapped him."

"Yes, and he stole their briefcase and then broke it, we know. I know," said Five pointedly. Diego ground his teeth together.

"And did you ask him where - when - he went?" 

"Yes. Nineteen-sixty-eight. So what? I need that briefcase, Diego-"

"Woah, woah, woah, wait," said Vanya, raising her voice slightly. "What's so important about a briefcase?"

"The briefcase is a time travelling device. I need it so I can deal with them, but Klaus broke it."

"So Klaus was kidnapped and _time travelled_? To nineteen-sixty-eight?"

"There was some torture between that, but yeah," Klaus muttered quietly. 

"Is this it? I'm _busy_, Diego-"

"Five, I'm going to fucking hit you if you don't shut up," Diego hissed. Five just scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

"What's the point here, Diego?" Luther asked. 

"Did you bother to ask how long he was there for? Where he was?" Diego turned back to Five. 

"He was half conscious at the top of the stairs, I doubt he would have told me if I had asked."

"Half conscious on the staircase covered in dirt and blood and you didn't-" Diego inhaled deeply, pinching his nose. Klaus huffed a breath. 

"I told you it's a waste of time."

"Well, Klaus?" Five said testily. "Pray tell, where were you for how long, since it's more important than the _end of the world_."

Klaus screwed his eyes shut again. "I was in fucking Vietnam, Five," he said, but it came out weaker than he intended. "For ten months. During the war."

"Klaus, _what?_" Allison asked, looking at him with shock and slight disbelief. Klaus bit his tongue for a moment.

"Vietnam, nineteen-sixty-eight, ten months," Klaus reiterated. He lifted his head up to look at them all. "Not high. Surprising, I know." He bared his teeth in a half-hearted snarl, curling his fingers in the cushion beneath them. 

"So it explains the dog tags, then," said Five. "Is that it?" 

"_Five_," Diego hissed. 

Klaus thought he was enjoying this more than he should. After feeling so utterly hopeless since his return - since Dave's death, really - the chance to yell at someone was too good to overlook. His emotions shifted to anger, and he leaned forwards slightly. "I am so sorry that me getting tortured because of _you _is so fucking inconvenient for you, Five."

Five leaned forwards also. "The apocalypse is bigger than you, Klaus, than all of us, and we have _days _before the world ends-"

"_Who fucking cares_?" Klaus yelled, throwing his shaking hands up. "_I_ don't! I've already lost _everything_, I don't _care_ about you and your stupid apocalypse, Five."

Five opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Vanya, who pointed at Klaus. "Klaus, what's wrong with your hand?" Klaus looked at the palm of his hand. "Other side." He turned it around, and looked at the dark scar that ran along the back of his hand, and the following ones around his forearm.

"Oh," he said with a breathy laugh. "Well, you know. _War._" He held his hand up, watching how it shook. It was almost fascinating to watch how his body did things without him willing it, and continued to do so despite him willing it to stop. "I was on the front lines, you know. Last time I saw action before I came back, actually. A bomb landed right next to me, or someone didn't see a mine, and," he gave slight jazz hands, "_boom._ That, my dear sister, is from the shrapnel, or something. Someone must have dragged me back, through all that mud and gunfire. I don't know who. Don't know who would bother, really. I must have looked dead." He realised that as he spoke, he spoke less to his siblings but more to himself, looking down at his hands. How he must have looked, covered in his own blood and other peoples, his leg hanging on by splinters of bone and shredded flesh. Part of it must have been completely blown off. Who would have bothered trying to save him in such a state? Part of him wished they hadn't. 

He could hear the whistle of bombs in his ears, and he flinched, ducking slightly as it crashed behind him. Someone put a hand on his thigh, the still existing one, and it was Diego, bringing him back. He swallowed and glanced up, looking at his siblings, and then he looked back down. His fingers curled into the dress he wore, felt the hard prosthesis beneath it, and he pulled it up far enough to show where prosthesis met skin. "Still took me a few weeks, I guess. Was pretty out of it. Still hurts like a bitch." He looked towards Five. "As soon as I could stand for over a second, I grabbed that fucking briefcase and tried to go back. Not come back here, mind you. Back before _that." Before Dave died. _"Brought me back here, though. After... after I saw everyone die, after everything that happened, and it brought me back here. After everything." His nails left crescents in the back of his hand. 

"Klaus..." Allison's voice was little more than a whisper. Klaus ran his fingertips over the edge of the prosthesis. He glanced up, and at least even Five and Luther had the decency to be shocked. 

He let the dress fall back down over the leg, and he felt suddenly drained, exactly how he'd been feeling since he stumbled off the bus. He sighed and heaved himself to his feet, waving his _GOODBYE _hand. "Deal with your apocalypse yourself," he uttered, "I don't care. I'm done." He nudged Diego, whom stood up and replaced his arm around his waist. The exit wasn't as dramatic, he thought, what with the long, slow shuffle out, and the fact that it left Klaus clinging to Diego and ready to sob when he looked at the stairs again, but he didn't really care. He was ready to just fall into a bed and sleep until the world imploded, and let them deal with it themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More siblings to come next chapter I promise!
> 
> If you enjoyed it, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I appreciate it all and I love hearing your thoughts!


	4. Raised Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: panic attack, gore, blood.

They came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs for long enough to let Klaus reach one shaking hand out, curl it around the banister, and take a steadying breath before everyone in the living room snapped out of their stupor and came out, following Diego and Klaus. 

"Klaus, sit down, please," Allison said behind him, and God, he wanted to. He would be more than happy to. He wanted nothing more to sit down and simply never get back up, because getting back up just hurt so much. 

“What?” Klaus snapped, his fingers curling tightly into Diego’s sweater. “What do you want me to say?” He didn’t have the energy to deal with them, nor the motivation to try to, and all he wanted was to finally make it upstairs so that he could collapse and sleep. He found it hard to stay upright as it was now, and knew that if he and Diego didn’t make it up the stairs now, whilst he still had a sliver of motivation to attempt it, then he wouldn’t manage it. Nonetheless, he found himself craning his head to peer at them, his siblings all trailing from the living room to follow he and Diego.

“She’s right,” said Luther, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “We need to talk about this, Klaus, and you shouldn’t be standing right now.”

Klaus’ eyes slipped closed and he inhaled shakily, tilting his head upwards to face the ceiling. He was hardly clinging on to himself, struggling to keep himself composed and he could feel his grip on himself slipping as his emotions began to overwhelm him. He was exhausted, the room spinning, and the leg he stood on was trembling from the effort of holding his weight. His ear rang and everything hurt and he just wanted it to stop. He could feel all of the stress he’d been under building and very much wanted to avoid breaking down in front of his siblings as best as he could.

He and Diego turned slightly so that they could face their siblings and he leaned more on his brother as the world dipped viciously. He felt Diego’s hand tighten on his waist, holding him against his side more tightly, and Klaus peeled his eyelids open. “What – what do you want me to say?” He asked bitterly, but it comes out more as a plead. Any venom from the family meeting has been drained out of him, too exhausted to hold anger that takes up any more of his dwindling energy, and instead in its place bubbles up his despair and fear and panic that seems to be lingering from the attack itself.

He found it hard to breathe properly; any time he tried to inhale deeply and calm himself down he found his lungs won’t expand enough to do so, and his breath shook when he exhaled. He had to fight himself to stop gasping for air he felt he wasn’t getting. Could anyone really blame him? Dave was dead, and he only had seconds to mourn him, seconds to scream for help, before his world was turned upside down. He could remember the indescribable horror he felt when he first woke up, surrounded by nurses, and how they had tried to keep him down on the bed but he had managed to get a glimpse of what they had done to his leg before he had passed out once more. And all of a sudden, he could remember the hazy moments before then, too.

The memories flashed through his mind like mini-grenades. The world a blur, no sound except for the ringing in his ears and the distinct smell of smoke and burning. His eyes rolled in his skull, taking in the smoke clouding the sky above him. He stared at the dirt he laid on and thought that it was odd that it was wet. It hasn’t rained here in days. And it was dark and sticky and coming from his hand. He lifted his hand into view and watched blood rush down his arm. His fingers trembled and it made him dizzy to watch. His tattoo has been shredded, he noticed. The skin on his hand has been shredded and it wept blood steadily. For a moment, though, he thought it must be someone else’s hand; he didn’t feel a thing.

The hand fell to the ground on a trembling arm and he tried to make sense of the world around him. Dave. He needed Dave. He tried to roll over and get up onto his feet but found his body won’t listen to his commands. He looked down at his legs, trying to see why they won’t move, and then paused at the sight that greets him. Blood, so much blood, and one of his legs sat at a horrific angle. He must have broken it. A break isn’t so bad but suddenly unexplainable horror was rising through him that made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t hold his head up anymore and so it fell to the ground, and the world pulsed in and out of life.

Suddenly there was a face hovering above him, hands holding his face and tapping his cheek. He recognised Alan, part of his squad, a friend, looking horrified at him. He yelled things over the distant sound of gunshots but Klaus still couldn’t hear him no matter how loud he yelled, but he caught the single word – _retreat._

Something bad has happened, then. He shoved his hand, the unfamiliar one with the blood on it, at Alan and he found his tongue in his mouth to speak. “Dave,” he tried to say, shoving Alan in the direction of where he last remembered Dave to be. Alan’s face fell slack and he almost flinched away from Klaus. Alan grabbed his wrist gently, then the other, and the world spun as Alan began to take him away. Klaus let him. It’s not as if his body will listen to him telling it to move.

“Klaus, Klaus, breathe-“

“He looks like he’s going to be sick, give him space-“

“Hey, Klaus, look at me-“

His lungs burned. He gasped for breath and he couldn’t shake the first image of his leg that he had stupidly believed was only broken, overlooking all that blood and the sharp edge of his visible bone and torn flesh.

Diego lowered him to sit down on the stair behind him, supporting him as he sank, and Klaus shook one of his hands free from his brother’s to grab at his thigh, and it’s all too much. He sobbed, spluttered to try and get a breath in, and tried to shove his brother away whenever he tried to touch him. He tugged the dress he’s wearing up with a sudden need to see his leg, to know this is all a nightmare, and someone made an animalistic noise upon seeing the prosthetic attached to his thigh. Maybe it was him.

Diego reached forwards, hands cupping his face and forced him to look at him. “Look at me, Klaus, look at me. You’re okay, you need to calm down. Breathe like this,” he insisted, exaggerating his breaths until Klaus could focus on them enough to try and imitate them. He managed to do so eventually, though remained shaking and sick and dizzy, tears streaming down his face and one hand gripping his aching thigh while the other clung onto Diego.

“What do you _want_?” Klaus sobbed, looking up at his siblings. He brought up a hand to swipe at his wet cheeks, then ran it back through his hair, curling his fingers there and tugging it. “Just leave – leave me alone! Fuck you, go _away_.” He couldn’t help his outburst, shrinking beneath the gaze of his siblings and uncomfortable with their attention on him. He just wanted Dave, and wanted all of this to stop.

He let go of Diego to bury his face in his hands, shying away from everyone, and he just wanted to be alone. So, he reached out a hand, grabbing the banister beside him, and heaved himself upright on his good leg. As he stood up, though, the motion only made a wave of dizziness hit him. He swayed, gasping, and saw Diego’s hands reach out for him just as the world went dark.

###

Diego was lucky to have already been reaching out for Klaus when he noticed him begin to stand, for the moment he fell he was able to lunge forwards and catch him before he could sink too low. Slowly, he lowered himself and Klaus back down onto the stairs so he could hold him easier. He brought one of his hands up to his brother’s face, his cheek stained by tears, and tapped it gently in an attempt to try and wake him back up, but Klaus didn’t so much as twitch.

“We should bring him to the infirmary,” said Allison. “He needs to lay down and Mom needs to look at his leg.”

Diego’s stomach twisted at the mention of their mother, whom he still hasn’t entirely recovered from her death – from being the one to kill her – only to see her up and walking around once more today, but shoved his emotions down to nod his agreement. “Yeah,” he croaked, staring at his brother’s gaunt and tear-streaked face. “Luther, help carry him.”

Luther didn’t hesitate to come close, helping to transfer Klaus from Diego’s grip to Luther’s, but just before he could lift him up Five interrupt. “Hold on,” he said, and hurried to come close. His hands pulled Klaus’ dress back up his leg and when Diego opened his mouth to ask him what he was doing, he answered before he could even speak. “This is just dragging him down and having it on is doing him worse,” he stated, able to take the prosthetic leg off swiftly, setting it aside. Allison inhaled sharply at the sight of Klaus’ thigh cutting off suddenly, and as Vanya too gasped, Diego and Luther abruptly averted their gaze. He felt his heart skip a beat merely from the glimpse he got.

“I’ll – I’ll go get Mom,” Allison finally said, and breaking through the tense silence seemed to trigger them all into action. As she disappeared up the stairs to find Grace, Luther heaved Klaus off the floor with ease. Everyone herded after Luther, following him into the infirmary to watch him lay Klaus down on one of the beds there and then step back as that same tense atmosphere befell them once more.

Staring at Klaus like this, pale and sickly in a hospital bed, never failed to make Diego’s gut writhe. He had too many memories of seeing Klaus like this, being called in for him after yet another overdose until it was just one too many and he couldn’t stomach seeing him like that another time, and he had hoped he would never see Klaus in a hospital bed due to an overdose again. At least this time wasn’t because of an overdose like he had hoped, but instead it was much, much worse.

Grace and Allison arrived swiftly and Diego found it hard to really look at her without seeing her eyes dim, and so when she drew the curtain to separate her and Klaus from everyone else, hiding both the sight of herself and his brother, he couldn’t but breathe a guilty sigh of relief.

“What do you think she’s doing?” Vanya asked, her voice quiet, after several moments.

“She’ll do whatever she needs to do,” responded Luther, eying the curtain with an intensity to his eyes. “And he’ll be okay.”

“I should have taken him to the infirmary as soon as I saw him,” Diego muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. Klaus obviously needed the medical attention but he had been too shocked himself to react properly. He could only simply hope that Grace is able to do her best to ease Klaus’ pain and discomfort and give him the first aid he needed.

“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing what to do,” Allison offered. Diego shook his head, lips pressed tight together.

“We should have noticed he was missing from the beginning,” he stated. Allison gave him a look.

“None of us could have guessed what had happened, Diego,” she said, voice firm. “Klaus always runs off. We wouldn’t have guessed any different-“

“Well, we should have.”

“Are you really going to argue over this now?” Vanya piped up suddenly, and the tone to her voice made them all pause. Processing her outburst, her cheeks turned pink and she looked down at her lap, embarrassed. “Just – there’s nothing to be done about that, now. But he needs us right now. He doesn’t need us to argue.”

“She’s right,” agreed Five, and Diego forced himself to let go of some of the tension in his shoulders with a sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he muttered, watching Grace’s shadow move through the curtain. He could only imagine what kind of help Klaus would need – how long ago had the accident happened? Had it even healed properly enough for him to be putting weight on it? He had seen the way Klaus had been walking, only to call it walking would be to use the phrase loosely – he had all but used Diego as a crutch, lightly dragging his injured leg along with him. Would it be able to heal on its own now or would he need Grace to tend to it more seriously?

And just what were they supposed to do with the news that Klaus had spent months in an active war, seeing front line action as a soldier? Klaus, who only ever ducked and dodged punches during mission or was stuck as lookout. It was nearly impossible to imagine. With their rocky relationship – not just Diego and Klaus’, but all siblings together – and the fact that no one had spoken to one another in years, Diego had no idea how he was supposed to even approach Klaus and offer help or support. He didn’t know what his brother was like beyond inappropriate, harsh jokes, drugs and his tendency to lie. He didn’t know how he was supposed to be there for him – didn’t know how he was supposed to be there as his brother.

By the looks on his siblings faces, it seemed that thought was shared by them all.

Five stood up. Everyone turned to look at him, curious, and he said, “I’m going after Hazel and Cha-Cha.”

“What?” Luther asked, too rising to his feet.

“You can’t just leave now,” said Allison.

“Hazel and Cha-Cha – the people who kidnapped Klaus. They won’t leave us alone now and we can’t risk them coming back here while Klaus is like this,” Five defended shortly. “And now is the best time to do it. Without the briefcase Klaus stole, they’ll be desperate. They don’t know Klaus destroyed it, either. I have a plan.”

Diego shared a look with Allison, eyebrows raised slightly. He was conflicted, rising to his feet with the intention of following Five, of finding Hazel and Cha-Cha and finally getting his revenge for what they did to Eudora and, now, for what they did to his brother. But then he faltered, looking at the curtain. He knew, deep down, that going out for them wouldn’t bring Eudora back, and it wouldn’t even make him feel better. But he could be here for Klaus when he needed him, rather than chasing that burning desire for revenge. The conflict tore him apart inside, the need for justice, but then he heard a groan come from beyond the curtain quickly followed by Grace hushing and comforting Klaus. He sat back down.

“I’ll come with you,” said Luther. “You shouldn’t go see them alone.”

Five eyed Luther for several moments before his gaze flicked back to the curtain. He nodded, turning to the door. “Come on, then. We won’t be long,” he said, and the two left.

Allison slumped back in her chair with a sigh. After several prolonged moments of silence, she ran her fingers through her hair and spoke up. “It’s hard to accept, huh?”

“What?”

“What happened,” she said in a quieter voice. “All of it.”

Diego pursed his lips. Behind the curtain, he saw the shadow of Grace’s hand stretch towards the top of the bed, to Klaus’ head, lightly pushing his hair back. He couldn’t quite find any words to reply to her.

“What are we even supposed to do for him?” Vanya replied rhetorically, shaking her head. Diego felt a spike of bitterness in his gut. After everything she had written about him in her book, now she wanted to act as if she cared, as if she would remain by his side and hold his hand and help him through this? He pursed his lips, curled his hand into a fist on his lap, and remained silent.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent sitting in that seat, watching the silhouette of his mother as she busied herself tending to Klaus with precision, but as soon as she pulled the curtain back, he was on his feet.

“How is?” Allison asked before he could. Grace fixed them both with the same perfect smile she always wore.

“Your brother is sick and running a low fever at the moment and is still in the early stages of recovering from his amputation. He shouldn’t have been up and running around,” she says, then sighs softly, almost fondly, but she doesn’t comment on it. “He’ll have to stay in bed and get plenty of rest to help his body recover, and it will be a while before he can get up and think about physiotherapy just yet. But I know with everyone here to support him, he’ll be fine,” she assured them all. “He’s resting just now. Do be gentle with him and let him rest.”

“Of course, Mom,” Diego uttered, and he looked over his shoulder to peer at Klaus. He hardly looked any better than before, still pale and sickly, breathing still a little too fast, an IV hooked up to him. He looked too fragile. Diego approached his bedside with Allison and Vanya and he hesitated, sucking in a breath. For a long moment, he simply stared at Klaus. His gaze rolled down his brother, watching the quick rise and fall of his chest, and then lower, to the shape of his legs beneath the blanket covering him and the way one leg stopped shorter than the other.

With a heavy stomach, Diego sat down in the chair next to his brother’s bed, his hands resting on the bed’s railing. He heard Allison and Vanya sinking back into nearby chairs too, all looking solemn and sad. With a moment’s hesitation, Diego leaned forwards and took his brother’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise! Long time no see, but I have returned. Thank you Courtney for your persistence in getting me to update this, it paid off.   
Unsatisfied with the outcome of this chapter? Maybe a little, but there's more to come!  
Feel free to let me know what y'all thought!


	5. An Awful Noise

Diego woke up the next morning with a painful ache in his neck that he couldn't rub away, although he tried to. Stifling a groan, he pried his eyes open and was promptly greeted with the sight of his brother’s pale, clammy face, and he inhaled sharply. A part of him had hoped that yesterday had all just been a dream, and that he would wake up in his boiler room at the gym and Klaus would be his usual irritating self, complete with two whole legs. Evidently not.

When he looked around the room, he was the only one there. He wasn't surprised and he huffed slightly to himself, turning his attention back to Klaus. His brother was still asleep, looking no better than he had before; still pain and clammy, his breaths coming fast and sharp. When Diego reached out to press the back of his hand against his forehead, his skin was hot to the touch.

Although he knew Klaus wasn't awake to hear him, Diego lightly squeezed his shoulder and said, “I’ll go get Mom.”

He slipped out of the room, once more rubbing at the ache settled in his neck from sleeping in an uncomfortable position overnight, and his gaze roamed the house; searched briefly up the stairs, but he couldn't see Grace sitting in her usual spot by her paintings, but he could hear sounds coming from the kitchen, and so he followed it.

He raised his eyebrows at the sight of all his siblings, sans Klaus, Five and Vanya, in the kitchen, and wondered what happened to their concern for their brother that had been so strong only last night, but he overlooked them to see Grace and asked (ignoring the still-lingering pit of guilt in his stomach whenever he looks her in the eyes), “can you check on Klaus? He didn’t look so good when I woke up.”

Lingering with a pot of coffee in her hands, Grace blinked at him for a moment and then nodded, setting the coffee down with a thud on the counter. Diego watched a drop fall from her fingertips before she wiped her hands off on her skirt. “Oh, dear. Of course. Help yourself to breakfast.”

She passed by, squeezing his shoulder as she goes. Diego watched her disappear around the corner, clicking heels retreating towards the infirmary. He pressed his lips together, flexed his fingers by his side, then turned and faced the kitchen and, subsequently, his present siblings, staring back at him. “Where’s Five and Vanya, then?” He asked, nodding to the empty chairs at the dining table.

“Five left to take care of the Commission,” Luther said, defensive for their brother. “Disappeared with someone from it. I don’t know where he went or when he’ll be back.”

Realistically, Diego knew that the Commission was still a large threat and they couldn't run the risk of letting them near Klaus while his brother was in such a vulnerable state, but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to be irritated at the idea of prioritising anything other than their brother’s health, especially in such a dire state. And; “what about Vanya?”

Allison and Luther exchanged a look. “She got a call,” Allison said before Luther had the chance to speak up. “She had to go.”

“Did she?” He asked, tone heavy with venomous sarcasm. “Who else recently came back from a war with a limb amputated that she needed to support?”

“Diego,” Allison said, tone exasperated and unamused. Diego ran his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head.

“No, no – I’m right in this, Allison. You go and look at Klaus right now and tell me that he doesn’t need all of us. We said we’d be better, and if we can’t be better now, when will we?”

“Diego, don’t be like this-“

“Like what?” He scoffed, folding his arms over his chest only to move them a moment later, too much pent up energy making it impossible for him to stand still.

“Diego, just sit down-“

He swiftly switched his glare from Allison to Luther, hardening it as he did. “Why should I? Can you imagine what he must be feeling – what he must be thinking? And you’re just-“

“Stop,” Allison snapped. “Don’t pretend that we don’t care about our brother, Diego. But right now he needs to rest, and you sitting staring at him while he does isn’t going to make him any better any faster, nor will you running yourself thin and then crashing when he does need your support.”

Diego pressed his lips together, teeth grinding together. Allison didn't back down, maintaining his gaze, and so he swallowed and simply turned around, deciding to ignore what she said. Before he could quite step out of the kitchen, though, he glanced to the side and spotted the plate of freshly made pancakes on the counter, and he all but stormed towards them, picking one up and then taking it with him on his way out.

He turned the corner into the infirmary and was promptly greeted with the sight of Klaus spitting over the edge of his bed into a trash can Grace must have swept up. One of Klaus’ hands gripped the railing on the bed tight enough to make his knuckles paler than the rest of his skin, and his whole body trembled with the effort of being sick. With her free hand, Grace ran her fingers through Klaus’ hair gently, moving it from his forehead. Klaus retched once more over the trash can, whole body tensing, and then he spat and all but fell backwards into bed once more.

Grace set aside the trash and murmured something quietly to him until his brother caught his breath, the rapid rise and fall of his chest slowing just a little, although the improvement is almost entirely unnoticeable by the force of his trembling.

“He okay?” Diego asked, stepping inside and looking to his mother. Grace greeted him with a sweet smile.

“Your brother is feeling a little under the weather,” she informed him, and one glance at Klaus’ pale face, feverish eyes, and both the tear-tracks on his cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his skin was enough to tell Diego that under the weather might be a little bit of an understatement, but Grace had never been one to say things that might worry any of her children. Diego forced himself to nod.

“Yeah,” he muttered, swallowing, and the appetite for his breakfast was suddenly gone. “Can I – can I get him anything?” He asked, looking between the two of them. Klaus had closed his eyes in an attempt to concentrate better on simply breathing and relaxing his tense body, evident in the way he repeatedly relaxed his muscles and flattened his fingers on the bedsheets only to tense up and have to do it again.

“A glass of water would be great, dear,” she suggested, and Diego nodded once more. He lingered, eyes stuck on his brother’s face for another moment. He had seen Klaus in some awful states before, but all of them pale in comparison to this; and he was forcefully keeping his eyes above Klaus’ shoulders. The added emphasis of his missing limb was something Diego didn't need to see to have it stuck in his head.

So instead he turned around and walks right back into the kitchen. Once more ignoring his siblings, he set his pancake aside, no longer hungry for it, and poured a chilled glass of water before returning to Grace and Klaus. He sat it on the small table nearby Klaus’ bed when it was clear Klaus wasn't going to be able to sit up and take it just now, and then he stood by as Grace recorded his temperature once more. Her expression didn't falter or waver at all; didn't give anything away.

Klaus’ lips moved, spitting out breathily whispered words that Diego didn't quite get. In response, Grace stroked his cheek and asked, “do you think you would be able to take some with water?”

Klaus paused, lips parted, and then he swallowed. It took him a moment before he shook his head and he rasped out, “please.”

“That’s alright,” said Grace. “Give me a second, dear.”

She slid from his bedside and Diego watched as she busied herself around the infirmary, bringing equipment closer to Klaus. “What’s this for?” He asked, concerned, and Grace smiled at him.

“This will administer painkillers for your brother,” she informed, and Diego glanced down at Klaus. Old instinct told him to ask how much she was giving him and how it will be monitored, though he knew Grace herself is well aware of Klaus’ habits – _old_ habits, he reminded himself– and wouldn’t give him too high a dose or let him become reliant on anything, but it only took a glance at his brother’s pinched face and trembling body to make him swallow those words down. It was obvious Klaus was in pain, unable to get comfortable or relax, and it would only put more stress on him.

He nodded, and when Grace reached for Klaus’ hand – the one not already connected to an IV pumping fluids into him – he had to look away, feeling queasy at the simple thought of anything piercing skin, though Klaus hardly reacted much more than a sharp inhale.

When Grace stepped aside, administering a dose of painkillers, Diego allowed his gaze to slip back. Awkwardly, he offered, “hey, Klaus.”

Hazy green eyes cracked open just enough to peer out at him. Klaus wet his lips, paused to inhale shakily, and simply said, “Diego.”

He felt utterly out of his depth there. He had no idea how he was supposed to comfort Klaus like this, how he was supposed to be there for him in such a situation like the one they were in. He didn't know what words to say or what actions to do. But he started by moving to his bedside and setting his hand on one of the bed’s railings.

“I’m here for you, bro,” he said, trying not to sound as awkward and uncertain as he felt. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Klaus stared at him for a few more moments, not saying anything, and then he closed his eyes again. Diego didn't know if that is a good or a bad response to what he said. Nonetheless, he settled down in a nearby chair, toying with his bottom lip. Every time Klaus tried to tug his blanket up to his chin, Grace gently tugged it down slightly, before she ended up running a cloth under some cool water, squeezing out the excess, and then laying it over his forehead.

Diego saw when the painkillers must begin to take effect, and he was grateful for it; Klaus relaxed a little, stopped squirming in discomfort so much on the bed, and managed to breathe a little easier. He settled laying with his head turned to face Diego and his arms cradling his clearly unsettled stomach, and he noticed that Grace had set an empty trash can just by Diego’s foot, and he was ready to lift it up at a moment’s notice.

Klaus didn't lunge to lean over the edge of his bed and throw up, though – which Diego was silently grateful for. Grace was busy cleaning things around the infirmary after tending to Klaus, and Diego couldn't help but continue to worry.

“His fever doesn’t look g-good, Mom,” he murmured, seeking her out. She hummed, wiping her hands off and turning to face him.

“It indeed spiked overnight,” she said, coming back to their side to offer Klaus comfort in the form of running her fingers through his hair once more, subtly fixing the placement of the wet cloth on his forehead. “I’ll keep a close eye on him, but your brother is strong. He’ll be okay.” She looked up from Klaus, smiling now at Diego. “And I’m sure it helps that he knows you’re here for him.”

Diego paused, instinct telling him Klaus was going to interject with a sarcastic comment at that, as he always did, but Klaus must have felt utterly horrible because he didn't, though he knew he must hear them talking; his eyes were slightly open once more, flicking between Grace and Diego and elsewhere, as if making up for the lack of his squirming by never letting his gaze settle or focus on one place for too long.

“Yeah,” Diego muttered, not sharing her confidence.

“I’m going to check on your other siblings; if either of you two need anything, Diego, just come get me,” she added, chipper and cheerful, and Diego wordlessly nodded. Grace patted his shoulder before leaving the room, heading back to the kitchen and dining room and leaving him alone with Klaus. The room filled with the sound of Klaus’ heavy breaths and the odd sound from the machine with Klaus’ painkillers as they pumped into his system, and Diego looked down at his hands.

It was still hard to wrap his mind around. He felt as if the realisation hadn't even properly hit him yet, despite seeing Klaus’ amputated leg in the bath, without the prosthetic on, and despite helping Klaus since. Part of him believed that he would simply wake up and this whole mess of a week would have simply been one abhorrent dream, but nothing more than that; a dream. If he was struggling to come to terms with it, he couldn't imagine how Klaus was doing

His eyes jumped back to his brother, eying him on the bed, and then his gaze fell to the necklace that flashed when it caught the light with each rise of Klaus’ chest. Dog tags. With the knowledge of Klaus being in a war, curiosity got the best of him and he leaned forwards, just enough to read the dog tags, as if seeing his brother’s name on war memorabilia will hit the truth into him better than the sight of his brother’s amputated limb and scars.

However, the dog tags read; _Dave Katz._

Eyebrows furrowing, Diego looked up at Klaus, uncertain as to whether he is asleep or not. Either way, he sat on the edge of his seat, rested his hands on the railing of the bed, and struggled for several moments to find words. Eventually, he settled on saying; “if you – if you ever want to talk about anything, Klaus. About what you – you saw, or went through. I’ll listen.”

Klaus didn't respond though, which Diego was partly glad for, knowing he wouldn’t have the faintest clue how to help his brother discuss such a sensitive topic had Klaus been awake and accepted his offer.

But then Klaus’ eyes cracked open ever so slightly. Instead of talking though, Klaus stared and then, after several moments stretched out over eternity, he reached a trembling hand out, and Diego took it.

###

Lost in his own thoughts, Diego didn't notice Luther until he was right by his side and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, voice hushed when he glanced at a sleeping Klaus. “Can you come to the living room? We need to talk.”

Diego stared at Luther emptily for a moment, then back down at Klaus, reluctant. But Klaus was asleep, and Diego was suddenly sucked empty of any energy to fight Luther, and so he stood up. Careful to not jostle the IV in his hand, Diego set Klaus’ hand back on the bed, lingered, and then followed Luther out to the living room.

Allison was there, and Vanya and Five were still nowhere to be seen.

“What is it, then?” He asked. Luther sighed, and Diego braced himself for something bad.

“It’s, uh, about Five,” he began. Diego raised his eyebrows and nodded, reluctantly willing to listen to this; it was a guiltily welcome break from Klaus. “I spoke to him, and he said that the world is ending in three days.”

Diego couldn't help the undoubtedly incredulous look that crossed his face as Allison repeated, questioningly, “three days?”

“Old bastard did mention an apocalypse, come to think of it,” Diego muttered, and he took a step back until he could sit down on one of the armchairs nearby.

“Can we trust him, though?” Allison asked. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s a bit…” She trailed off, but she doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Diego snorted.

“He was pretty convincing,” Luther said. “If he wasn’t trying to stop an apocalypse, those lunatics wouldn’t be chasing after him.”

“That’s why they were after him?”

“What did Five even see?” Allison asked, and Luther hesitated.

“Well, uh… apparently, we all fought together against whoever was responsible,” he stated, and he nodded, looking between Allison and Diego and then away. An awkward silence stretched as the two of them wait for him to expand on the obviously unfinished sentence, but then Luther stood up and took a few steps away, as if he could physically run away from it. “Okay, so, here’s the plan – we go through Dad’s research-”

“Hold on, hold on,” Diego said, standing up too. “What is it you’re not telling us, huh, big guy?” When Luther only continued to hesitate, wearing an irritatingly guilty look, Diego added; “spit it out.”

He looked down at his hands, and then into a mug of coffee held in his hand. He muttered something incoherently and covered it instantly with a sip of his drink. Allison gave Diego a look, arching an eyebrow, and Diego shook his head.

“What is it, Luther?” She asked.

“I said, uh. We died.”

Diego’s lips parted and he couldn't do much more than stare at him. It’s harder to believe than what Klaus went through, and that really must be some insane dream. Three days until some huge apocalypse that Five saw in the future, where they all died.

“Sit down,” Diego said, words slow. “And tell us what happened.”

Luther looked a little cornered and Diego would be lying if it didn’t make him a little satisfied, especially when the man came back over to them, even if Allison had stood up and taken to pacing slightly.

“If we died first time around, what makes this time any different?” He asked, and Luther sighed, looking down at his hands. He opened his mouth to say something, and Diego truly was eager to hear what kind of plan he might conjure up for this now, but Luther was cut off before he even has the chance.

The air rippled nearby them and they all took a step back, and Diego was suddenly reminded, almost, of that day in the courtyard that felt like a lifetime ago, when Five came tumbling out of the air. And, just like that day, the world seemed to part and Five seemed to fall out of nowhere, crashing onto the bar with a briefcase. He was covered in dust and he all but tumbled off the bar, stumbling, and looked around. His hand lashed out, snatching the coffee from Allison’s hand and ignoring all of their concern.

“What the hell, Five?” Diego asked, at the same time as Allison asked;

“What the hell happened to you?”

Diego couldn't help but feel a little concerned as Five limped a few steps away from them, more dishevelled than Diego thought he had ever seen him in his entire life before. He drained the coffee and then threw the cup aside to land on the nearest chair before turning to them, sighing.

“So,” he began. “The apocalypse is in three days. The only chance to save the world is, well. Us.”

“The Umbrella Academy,” murmured Luther, clogs turning in his head, and Five rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and me too, this time. And if you all don’t get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we’re screwed. So what if Dad messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us. And, to give us a fighting chance to see next week, I’ve come back with a lead.”

A little taken aback by Five’s impromptu speech, Diego was rendered speechless and unsure of how to even respond, staring at his brother’s determined eyes. He fished something, a piece of paper, from his pocket and declared; “I know who is responsible for the apocalypse. This is who we have to stop.”

Allison outstretched a hand eagerly for the paper and Five handed it over. As she unfolded it, both he and Luther stepped closer to get a look at it.

“Harold Jenkins?” She read. “Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?”

“I don’t know… yet,” said Five. “But I do know that he’s responsible for the apocalypse, so we have to find him, and we need to do it now.”

“How is he connected to what happens?” Asked Luther.

“I don’t know.”

“Wait,” said Diego, stepping forwards, because Five had started this off talking as if he had the person located and all they had to do was go to them. “So all you have is a name?”

“That’s enough,” defended Five, glaring at him.

“There’s probably dozens of Harold Jenkinses in the city.”

“Well, we better just start looking, then,” Five retorted.

“I mean, how exactly do you know his name?” Asked Allison.

Five sighs, irritated, and looks away. “Harold Jenkins,” he repeated. “You know those masked lunatics that attacked the house?”

“Yeah,” snorted Diego. “The ones that attacked us while _you_ were off getting drunk.”

“Them,” said Five, completely ignoring his comment. “They were sent by the Temps Commission to stop me from coming back and preventing the end of life on earth.”

“The Temps what?” Asked Allison, and she sounded as confused as Diego feels.

“My former employer,” said Five. “They monitor all of space and time to make sure that whatever is supposed to happen… happens. They believe the apocalypse is happening in three days; so, I went to Commission headquarters and intercepted a message that was meant for said lunatics. Protect Harold Jenkins. So, he must be responsible for the apocalypse.”

There was a beat of silence as they all tried to process the nonsense Five has just blurted, and then, simultaneously, all three of them took a step away, dispersing slightly, to blurt their own questions to Five.

“Do you have any idea how insane this sounds?” Allison retorted, and Five grit his teeth.

“Do you know what is insane? I look like a thirteen year-old boy, Klaus served in a war and Luther thinks he’s fooling everyone with that trench coat. Everything about us is insane. It always has been. We didn’t choose this life, we’re just living it. For the next three days, anyway.”

“But the last time we tried to stop it, we all died,” Allison stated. “Why is this time any different? Why should I not go home to my daughter?”

“Because, this time I’m here. And we have the name of the man responsible,” Five stated, as if his very presence is powerful enough to save a planet. “Guys, we have an actual possibility to save the lives of billions of people. Including Claire.”

Allison’s head snapped up at her name, obviously throwing her off, and she swallowed. “You know her name?”

“I do,” said Five. “And I’d like to live long enough to meet her.”

“All right,” she said, nodding. “Let’s get this bastard.”

“We’re not losing any more people,” Diego muttered, taking a step towards Allison.

“And Luther?” Five asked.

“Yeah, uh. You guys go ahead; I’m gonna stay and look through Dad’s files. I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the moon.”

“Seriously?” Diego snorted. “The end of the world is here and you wanna make this about you and Dad? Now?”

“No,” defended Luther. “Watch for threats; that’s what he told me. You think that’s a coincidence? This all has to be connected somehow.”

“We don’t have time for this,” muttered Five, shaking his head.

“I know where we can find this asshole,” Diego said, jerking his head in the direction of the door, and that’s all it took for he, Five and Allison to leave Luther standing in the living room and to head for the door. It’s only when he reached it that Diego paused. “Klaus,” he murmured, turning to look over his shoulder.

“Will be fine,” said Five, opening the door with a violent shove. When Diego didn't take a step closer, he added, “Luther is staying here, and he has Mom. We need to stop the apocalypse or Klaus is as good gone too, Diego. Come on.”

Conflicted, Diego stared in the direction of the infirmary, but Five was right. Klaus can’t help them right now, and Diego won’t be of any use staying by his bedside. They need to find Harold or Klaus won’t make it to the next week either.

Gritting his teeth, Diego turned and walked outside with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this part! If you did, feel free to let me know with a kudos or a comment, it's all greatly appreciated <3


	6. I Clutched My Life

There were hands on him, and they hurt.

They forced him awake, pulling him abruptly out of his restless sleep and into a confused, half-coherent state of wakefulness. It took him several moments to realise he was actually awake at all.

The hands gripped his arms tight, bruising, and they shook him. “Hey, hey Klaus, wake up – get up,” said someone, words urgent but slurred. The hands lifted him off the bed as if he weighed nothing and shook him, and Klaus moaned. His entire body felt as if it had been set on fire and then stamped out; his muscles and bones violently protested the touches on his arms.

He tried to shove weakly at the hands on him, moaning his discomfort and pain, but the person didn’t seem to notice or care; they just shook him harder.

It took tremendous effort, but Klaus opened his eyes a sliver to look out at whoever was trying so desperately to get his attention. He recognised who it was by the hazy outline of their broad shoulders rather than their actual face, and he turned slightly away from them.

“Stop,” he moaned, trying to push away Luther’s wrists and make him move away. He grimaced slightly at the pinch from the IVs in his hands, being tugged with his movements, so he simply settled on placing his hands on Luther’s arms.

Seeing him awake, Luther perked up slightly; his hands tightened on his arms even further. “I need you – I need you to talk to Dad, Klaus. Now. Do it.”

He struggled to process the words he said, trying to make sense of it, and he was surprised to realise his father’s death had slipped his mind, though he supposed he shouldn’t be; he felt utterly horrible; sluggish, weak, exhausted and confused. He couldn’t imagine even trying to conjure Reginald’s ghost; the thought alone left him tired.

“I – I can’t,” he said, voice quiet and rasping in the back of his throat, and he turned his face away from Luther when the smell of alcohol wafted from him. Hearing Klaus’ response, Luther’s grip only tightened on him and he squirmed on the bed, trying to wiggle his way out of his increasingly painful hold. His whole body hurt and Luther either didn’t realise he was in pain and his grip was too tight, or he simply didn’t care.

“Yes, you can,” insisted Luther, arching him off the bed as if trying to make Klaus sit up, and the movement makes Klaus whimper, made his head spin. “Bring him here, Klaus – I need to talk to him, now – right now. I need to talk to him.”

“Luther-“

“This is important, Klaus_, get up_-“

“You’re hurting me,” Klaus breathed, voice pleading, clinging onto Luther’s arms. “Luther – Luther, please, stop, you’re hurting me.”

Talking left him breathless and winded, gasping, his chest heaving and body trembling with the exertion and effort of it. He screwed his eyes shut, fingers curling into the sleeves of Luther’s sweater, trying to relieve some of the pain and discomfort in his body caused by the awkward position of being held limply off the mattress.

Luther, surprisingly, did stop. Or, at least he stopped insisting Klaus conjured Reginald; he kept holding him up, watching him. As he caught his breath as well as he could, he cracked his eyes open again to peer out at his brother. Luther looked utterly dishevelled, his eyes red-rimmed and cheeks rosy; with their proximity, he could smell more clearly the alcohol on his breath.

Slowly, still a little clumsily, Luther set Klaus back down on the bed, drawing a sigh of relief from him. He let his cramping fingers loosen on his sleeves, his hands falling back down onto the bed, and Luther’s grip loosened, relieving some of the pain he felt, though only a small amount. He melted into the mattress, breathing harshly – it felt as if he couldn’t breathe, as if someone was pushing down on his chest and constricting his lungs.

With bleary eyes, Klaus searched out the painkillers he was hooked up to and the machine that would administer his dose, and reached out a shaking hand for it. It was just beyond his reach, however, and he could hardly prop himself up and stretch out even further; instead he slumped back onto the bed, tired and gasping, feeling defeated.

Luther had stumbled back to sit in a nearby chair, head in his hands, occasionally swaying slightly. Over his shoulder hovered Ben, looking confused and slightly curious. Feeling Klaus’ gaze on him, he lifted his head and met his eyes.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he said, shrugging and coming close. “Are you okay?”

Swallowing, Klaus rasped, “hurts.”

“You don’t look too good,” murmured Ben, frowning, and he looked back over at Luther with anger flickering across his face. “He shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. But still – you could ask him to give you another dose. Everyone left and I’m not sure where Mom is.”

Klaus listened intently to Ben, then looked down at Luther. He had no idea what might have happened to make Number One upset enough to raid the bar in the Academy, especially when he so praised himself on never so much as having a single beer in his life, keeping his body in peak physical health and looking down his nose at Klaus and his use of alcohol and drugs – and he found that, in that moment, he didn’t really care either. He did – it was simply not his priority to find out, however. He could do that later when he could breathe and when existing didn’t cause him agony.

“Luther,” he croaked, reaching one hand out and managing to prod his arm. “Luther, please, I – I can’t reach it-“

His brother lifted his head, scrubbing at his cheeks, and looked lazily between Klaus and the painkillers he was pointing at. His face twisted and he rose to his feet unsteadily, using the chair to balance himself. “No,” he said, waving his hand. “No, no – you need – you need to get sober, for once, you need to get Dad-“

He was already turning around, heading for the door, and Klaus felt his stomach drop. “Luther, _please_,” he called, one hand hanging over the edge of the bed. Luther stumbled slightly, but he didn’t turn around or look back; he walked out of the infirmary and disappeared from his view, and Klaus dropped his head back onto his pillow, though regretted it when it made the room spin.

Ben slid to his side, a frown plastered permanently onto his face. “Klaus, if you can manifest me-“

Knowing it was already a futile idea, Klaus closed his eyes. He was exhausted enough without attempting to manifest Ben – he knew he wouldn’t have the energy to even try. He could only hope he might be able to fall back asleep with Luther gone, but the pain he felt all over his body, settled deep within his muscles and bones, was too intense to let him relax.

All he could do was lay there, simultaneously too hot and too cold, aching and breathless and utterly miserable.

At some point, he became all too aware of the uncomfortable dryness of his throat he felt with each rasping breath and each time he struggled to swallow. He used the last of his voice to weakly call out for Grace, but either she wasn’t nearby or he was too quiet to be heard, even by her. Again, talking left him breathless and he had to take several long minutes to recover from it. He watched the doorway in hopes that she might come through for him, but she never did. His gaze drifted away eventually, coming instead to land on the side table near his bed and, more importantly, the glass of water sitting on it.

He perked up upon seeing it. The idea of sitting up, reaching it and drinking it by himself seemed the equivalent to running a marathon, but he was determined to do it; his mouth and throat painfully dry, and he could hardly bear with it anymore.

So, he propped himself up ever so slightly on his side, took a moment to brace himself with how dizzy and weak the tiny movement left him, and then he reached his closest hand out towards it. His fingers danced a centimetre away from it and he grit his teeth; he kept pushing forwards, and his fingers ghosted over it, and he began to try and tug it closer to him. Finally, he was able to close his fingers around it when it was in his grasp, and he lifted it off the table.

Instantly, it slid out of his grasp and fell to the ground, landing with a sharp crash. Klaus watched as shards of glass spread outward in the puddle of water now on the floor and moaned hopelessly, falling back onto the bed, defeated.

Trying to reach it had taken energy and strength he barely had, combined with jarring his aching body, and to watch the glass of water just smash when he had been so close to getting it just made him feel more utterly miserable. The painkillers were still out of his reach and he didn’t bother trying to reach for it.

He hoped Grace, or anyone, would come by soon. He only continued to feel worse and worse with each passing minute, and he felt so miserable he had the urge to simply cry, though he hardly had the energy to do even that.

At the very least, he finally managed to fall asleep again.

###

There was a commotion around him.

A group of people rushed by him, bringing with them the smell of blood, and they barked orders at one another. It reminded him of Sarge, and maybe someone had gotten hurt. Surely; with how horrible he felt, he must be in a field hospital, and someone else must have gotten hurt as well. He hoped it wasn’t anyone he was close to; hoped it wasn’t Dave.

It took him several moments, or minutes, to be able to open his eyes and look around.

Someone had been set down on a bed nearby him, surrounded by others, though one person had begun to sweep up the shards of glass on the floor by his bed. Soldiers, he thought, and maybe a couple of nurses. Had someone important been hurt? He couldn’t tell, but the blonde nurse was hurrying to tend to them. If he was lucky, she would come to him next; he felt horrible.

He closed his eyes, uninterested in watching the nurses and soldiers unless they were Dave, and if they were Dave then they would come up to him. He couldn’t quite find enough air to call out for a nurse’s attention either, so he simply laid there, pushing through the heaviness and pain in his body.

There was a thud somewhere nearby, as if someone had fallen. Idly, Klaus wondered what had happened to himself to land in the field hospital. He couldn’t remember.

A hand touched his face and his startled reaction was delayed a few seconds. He cracked open his eyes to meet another pair of brown ones, not Dave’s sky blue, and he couldn’t help but deflate slightly.

“Mom?” Said the person – the boy – in front of him, looking up towards the nurse. “Can you come check on him?”

Shoes clicked on the floor and approached him. The nurse stood beside the boy, looking down at him. She asked him a question that didn’t register in his mind, but if she was here to help him then he ought to tell her how he felt. In less than a whisper, he managed to say; “hurts. Please.”

She ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it away from his face. “Just relax, dear,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. She took his hands, looking over the IVs in them still, and then she busied herself with administering another dose of painkillers. As she did so, the boy from before remained in front of him, seeming to scrutinise him. Whoever let a child in a field hospital?

“How are you feeling, Klaus?” He asked. “Do you need anything?”

“How is he?” Asked a soldier, looking a little pale, slumped on a nearby seat and having his blood taken.

Focusing his gaze on the boy again, Klaus told him the only thing he needed. The boy came closer, ducking his head so his ear was near his mouth, and asked him to repeat it. “Dave,” he echoed, looking over his shoulder. “Dave Katz… one – one hundred, seventy-third… airborne brigade…” He paused to swallow dryly and catch his breath, and realised his eyes had slipped closed again. He didn’t bother opening them. “Private Dave Katz… where is he?”

The boy didn’t respond for several moments and he was sure he had left, but then a hand pressed onto his forehead, then his cheek. “Where are you right now, Klaus?” Asked the boy, and what a silly question that was.

“Field hospital,” he answered with an exhale.

“What does he mean?” Asked someone else, and he wasn’t sure why everyone was so confused with him, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he could feel the pain begin to seep away, numbed by blissful drugs, and it was about time; he felt like he had been writhing in agony for eternity before the nurses had come in.

“Luther, did you check on him at all when we left?” Asked the soldier having his blood taken.

“I was busy, I didn’t have a chance to.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“

“Now isn’t the time for your stupid arguments,” snapped the boy. “Mom, how is he?”

Though he was partly curious to figure out what had happened to him, now that the pain had finally begun to lessen he was finally able to relax a little, and he was utterly exhausted. He trusted the nurses to take care of him here, let them do whatever they needed. He felt somewhat guilty when he could tell that he was being asked questions but he couldn’t focus on listening to them, let alone answering them.

Fingers tucked something behind his ears, pressed something up by his nose. Something clamped onto the end of his index finger. Blankets shifted by his legs and the nurse began inspecting one of his thighs, and then she begins to gently, carefully clean it.

Maybe he got shot, he thought, though it must have been bad if he felt this horrible.

The commotion of people around him made his head spin even with his eyes closed, and the bubbling nausea in his stomach spiked. The nurse helped him onto his side just before he threw up over the side of his bed and into a well-placed trash can. Trembling, he was gently lowered back onto the bed, a cloth wiping his mouth, and then there was something prodding his lips – a straw - and his head was being gently held up. Eager to chase away the dryness in his throat, he tried to drink as quickly as he could.

A hand cupped his cheek, gentle and reassuring, and then a finger gently lifted one of his eyelids and the nurse’s face peered close, as if studying his eye, before letting him melt back onto the bed. Hands prodded experimentally at his stomach until finding a spot on his chest that made him jerk and hiss when the dulling ache there spiked once more, and he writhed in the bed, trying to get away from the painful touch. The nurse stopped touching him there, instead running her fingers through his hair in a silent apology. The next time something touched his chest, it was done gently, though he twitch at the cold touch on his skin.

He could hear talking around him; questions and bickering that was quickly stamped out. People moved around him, dizzy and disorienting. A chair scraped nearby and a hand settled on his shoulder, large and heavy, and he pushed through the heavy blanket of exhaustion that weighed him down, favouring the muted spark of hope and excitement that lit up inside of him.

“Dave?” He croaked, finding the effort to open his eyes enough to peer out at the man in front of him. It took him several moments to be able to focus his eyes on the person, and his smile dropped; it certainly wasn’t Dave. He deflated, slumping, face falling.

“Klaus?” Asked the person, ducking his head to catch his gaze. A chill ran down Klaus’ spine and he fisted the blankets covering him, trying to pull them further up his body. The motion was hard when his body felt so heavy, as if anchors had been tied to his bones.

“I want Dave,” he murmured. “Please, please, just… I want Dave.” He shook his head softly, closing his eyes and turning away from the man in front of him. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten hurt, couldn’t remember what had happened at all; whether he was one of many casualties in a large attack, or if he was simply unluckily injured. He couldn’t remember what the last thing to happen was; had they been on patrol? On leave? On the front lines? He truly had no idea.

“Where’s Dave?” He asked again, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. He tried to push himself up in the bed, his arms trembling with the effort. He tugged at the nasal cannula hooked around his ears, and when he couldn’t pull it off easily, finding it too hard to lift his hands that high, he went for the IVs hooked into his hands that kept tugging him with each movement anyway.

“Hey, hey, hey,” said the man, standing up abruptly and taking a gentle hold of Klaus’ wrists, moving them and holding them to the bed without much effort. “You need to stay in bed, Klaus, seriously, you can’t – you can’t get up-“

Klaus whined, increasing frustration and confusion bubbling up in his chest. The hands moved to his upper arms, urging him back down onto the mattress, but he flinched at the old ache on his arms – the man frowned, shifting slightly and eying bruises on his arms, looking more disturbed with bruises than the violence of war.

The world span around him and he felt defeated as he fell back onto the bed, closing his eyes to try and battle the dizziness in his head. His chest heaved with each desperate attempt to draw air into his lungs. The hands remained on his shoulders for a few moments, ensuring he wasn’t about to try and get up again, before they moved. He peeled his eyes open, watching him sort it around his legs, and then his eyebrows drew together.

“Wait,” he gasped, urgency rising up like a tidal wave within himself. “Wait, wait – what-“

His fingers grasped desperately at the blanket laying over him, trying to yank it away, but the man seemed intent on keeping it over his legs.

“Klaus, seriously,” he repeated, voice almost bleeding. “Seriously, please, you need to rest Klaus, you can’t do this-“

“_What happened_?” Klaus breathed, voice rising swiftly. The man looked for assistance around them and then the boy from earlier was back, trying his own hand at convincing Klaus to calm down and rest. Klaus yanked the blanket with as much strength as he could muster, which wasn’t much truly, but they were gone for a moment – long enough for him to catch a glimpse of underneath them.

Someone made a noise a bit like an animal having its tail stamped on, and then they blankets were back, hiding it from view, and Klaus couldn’t breathe and Dave wasn’t there, _he wasn’t there_-

He was grateful that the world chose that moment to go dark, as if someone had pulled the plug to it, and he didn’t have to worry about the way his body didn’t feel and didn’t look like his and that Dave wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End in sight, I hope you enjoyed this part and feel free to let me know what you thought - it's all greatly appreciated!


	7. Ragged Breathing Like a Wind Along a Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A... lot happens in this last chapter, but I didn't want to split it into two lmao so, buckle up lads

Diego was, admittedly, grateful to see Klaus slump in the bed, falling unconscious.

His brother couldn’t afford to be moving as he had been, and truthfully, it was horrible to watch his brother flail on the bed, his eyes feverish and holding no recognition or understanding. It was worse than when they had rushed indoors with Allison and in the passing glimpse he got of his brother he could see his pale skin and sunken cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead, and had heard the harshness of his rapid breathing, gasps that tumbled from lips tinged blue, bed surrounded by a puddle of water and tiny shards of glass; the water he had gotten him earlier.

His brother looked horrible.

And Grace had only confirmed that, indeed, he had only gotten even worse. His stomach twisted with guilt at the thought that his brother had been stuck in this room all alone, delirious and in pain. And, evident by the large bruising beginning to blossom on his arms, the one sibling who had been home and had been able to check in on their weakly brother, had not taken care of him at all.

“Luther,” he growled, watching Grace reposition the nasal cannula on Klaus that had slipped slightly in his struggle, then move on to checking over his amputated limb. “What the fuck did I see?”

Luther, sitting beside Allison’s bedside and holding her hand, lifted his head, his eyes wide. “What?” He asked, voice full of blissful ignorance that sparked Diego’s temper even more than usual. He gestured wildly to Klaus, his teeth grinding together, and then he stepped by his brother’s bedside and with careful hands, he tugged the sleeves of his shirt up slightly, enough to show him the hand-shaped bruises on his pale skin.

“What the hell is this?” He demanded.

Luther narrowed his eyes, scrutinising Klaus’ arms before finally looking back up at Diego. “He could have gotten those anywhere-“

“No he couldn’t have,” snapped Diego, pulling his hands back to himself in case he ended up holding or touching Klaus too roughly. “They weren’t there when we left, Luther, and you were the only person here with him. They weren’t here when he got back, they weren’t here when we left, so why, all of a sudden, does he have giant gorilla-sized handprints on his arms? Just what the fuck did you do to him?”

Rising to his feet with a defensive look to his face, Luther said, “I wouldn’t hurt him like this-“

“Well obviously you did!” Diego snapped, jabbing his finger in his direction. “Obviously you did! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Diego could see when Luther gave up trying to deny his actions; could say the way he pressed his lips together and the way his shoulders slumped, silently admitting to grabbing Klaus. Diego tried not to imagine it, really, but suddenly he couldn’t get the image of Luther looming over Klaus in the infirmary bed, and doing what? Pinning him down into it, demanding something from him? Trying to shake him awake, try to start some drug intervention? And Klaus, half-coherent and confused and utterly helpless and in pain.

“Look, I – I didn’t mean to hurt him,” said Luther, looking guiltily at their ill brother. “I was drunk, I got ahead of myself-“

“Bullshit,” Diego retorted. “You’ve spent your whole damn life trying to control your freakish strength and you don’t just get to forget about that when our brother is _dying_-“

“Diego,” Luther said, not quite a yell but almost. Diego gave him a challenging look.

“What? You heard Mom – he shouldn’t have even been trying to sit up like he was, let alone have you come and shake him like a ragdoll! He can’t afford to be doing that, Luther. His body can’t deal with that shit right now.”

Luther does look a little guilty at that; looking down in shame, eyes sad.

Grace had put it as lightly and optimistically as she put everything for her children, but the facts were still clear; Klaus’ infection was rapidly getting worse, developing rapidly to sepsis and only getting worse. How Klaus had been standing and moving before seemed to be nothing short of a miracle. Once Allison been tended to and she had checked Klaus over, Grace had fretted over Klaus repeatedly, checking over him and bringing a whole new round of treatment for him, things Diego didn’t want to look too closely at, as if he could live in ignorant bliss without looking at his rapid heartbeat, or the blue tinge to his lips and skin, or the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes and the actual bruises on his arms.

Grace liked to be optimistic with them, cleverly choosing her words to relay facts said in a sweet way to cause her children as little anxiety as possible, but it only took a couple of questions from Five to get the harsh truth from her: Klaus was struggling. Bad. Should his health only prove to decline, Klaus very well might not make it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Luther, and despite the apology, it only enraged Diego further.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” Diego scoffed. “It’s not me you need to be sorry to – it’s Klaus. And you might not even get that chance. He could fucking die, Luther.” He maintained his voice at an icy level that he thought Five might be proud of, and it seemed to have more of an impact than yelling and snapping at Luther. His words echoed around the room, sinking into them all, and then the reality hit.

Klaus could die. And when he turned to sneak a glance at his brother, his appearance did little to reassure Diego that he was on his way to recovery. Klaus had survived a warzone only to come back and die in the Academy whilst his siblings bickered around him. His last coherent memory could be of Luther coming in, drunk, and hurting him, and anything after that could be nothing more than a confused mess of reality, going by what he had been saying and how he had been acting minutes ago.

Diego stumbled backwards until his legs hit a chair and he slumped into it, gaze stuck on his brother. And beyond him laid Allison, unconscious and pale with a bandage around her throat.

Luther, too, slumped backwards into his seat and Five stared at the floor with a darker expression than usual and for several minutes, they were all silent, save for the sound of Grace’s heels and the mechanical beeping of medical equipment around them.

Then, Five said, “Allison and Klaus need to rest. They shouldn’t be left alone, whether they’re with one of us or with Mom. In the morning, we need to find Vanya and we need to kill Harold Jenkins. After that, we need to get our shit together.”

Suddenly finding himself speechless, all Diego could do was nod his agreement.

Five sat down and they were silent once more.

The air around him felt suffocating, but Diego didn’t dare move from Klaus’ bedside.

###

Within ten minutes of being awake the next morning, hardly enough time to attempt to rub away the ache in his neck from once more falling asleep in an uncomfortable position in a chair, Five was talking.

Luther too looked half-asleep still, and neither Klaus or Allison had yet to stir. Through his sleep-hazy mind, and after he had seen Grace check both his siblings, Diego made an attempt at forcing himself to listen to his brother.

“I’m going to go look for Vanya and Harold. There was another address written in his files that we got from the police station; there’s a good chance that’s where they both went after last night.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” said Diego, sitting upright a little and then pausing. His eyes strayed towards Klaus, lips pressing into a tight line. Five should not be facing Harold Jenkins – or Vanya – alone, but a glance at Klaus’ bruised arms made it nearly impossible to trust leaving Luther in charge of looking after Klaus alone.

Five picked up on his train of thought and quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Someone needs to be here for them. Vanya won’t attack me.”

“How do you know that she won’t?” Asked Luther, voice rough, his gaze landing on their sister. “She’s unstable and dangerous-“

“It’s _Vanya_,” said Five. “And now she’s aware of her powers and how she became convinced she was ordinary. There’s no surprise I can jump on her and make her lash out accidentally.”

Luther didn’t seem to look very convinced when Five said that – _accidentally_ – and Diego had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Only yesterday had he himself been claiming that he _accidentally_ hurt Klaus, and he knew about his own powers; Vanya didn’t.

Conflicted, Diego looked down at his own hands with cold eyes, but his own words rung clear in his head; Klaus could die. Klaus could die and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t find any trust for Luther to remain by his side alone anymore.

“If you’re in danger, you zap back here, got it?” He finally said to Five, and they held one another’s gazes for several long moments before Five finally nodded.

“Of course,” he simply said. “I shouldn’t take long anyway. I’m taking your car, Diego.”

Blinking, Diego bit down the urge to tell him that no, he most certainly wasn’t, and reminded himself once more that there were more important things than his beloved car. He was sure Five didn’t need to be told that he would be paying if he damaged the car.

With a resigned nod, he watched Five turn and leave; heard the front doors open and thud shut. Diego turned back to Klaus, shuffling a little closer to his bed and rested his hands on the bedrail. Klaus’ lips were parted, still with that horrific blue hue to them, and his chest heaved with rapid breaths. Diego checked, then double-checked, that Grace had given him another dose of painkillers to try and help soothe him even a little bit, and he hated this; feeling useless, helpless. All he could do was dangle his hand off his bedrail and then reach further; fix the blanket covering him a little, try and ensure that he at least looked comfortable.

The noise of Allison stirring cut through the tension in the air and he rose to his feet, as did Luther, watching as she began to move a little as consciousness returned to her. Grace was swift to come to her side, resting a hand on her shoulder and offering a smile to be the first thing she saw; as soon as Allison’s eyes were open, she was reassuring her and explaining to her what had happened and her own injuries.

Both Luther and Diego had to stand aside as Grace spoke with her first, and then Luther was sent off to retrieve a new clothes for her since she was still wearing the bloody ones from yesterday. Allison stayed awake for about as long as it took to get changed, sip water, and with a notepad also brought down by Luther, write _Vanya?_

“Five’s trying to find her,” said Diego. “Try not to worry, okay? You need to rest.”

She was already falling back asleep; her eyelids drooping and body melting into the mattress. In a messier scrawl, she wrote; _Klaus?_

Diego swallowed and, possibly for the first time since their argument last night, looked Luther in the eye. After a moment of hesitation, Luther said, “he’s resting too. He’s still right there; don’t worry. Mom’s looking after him.”

Seemingly satisfied with her immediate questions answered, even if they might not have been the answers she had wanted, Allison allowed her eyes to fall closed as she succumbed once more to sleep. Luther gently took the notepad and pen from her hand, setting them aside, and Diego returned to his seat next to Klaus. He wasn’t sure if he wanted his brother to wake up or not, and he felt guilty at the thought. Was an unconscious Klaus better than a delirious but awake one?

Not that it mattered what Diego thought was better. Klaus remained unconscious and unresponsive whenever Grace came over, messing with the IV cannulas in his hands, checking his amputated leg, or getting his temperature. Besides keeping a close eye on all of his vitals there was little more Grace could actually do for him unless he got even worse. Diego didn’t like the way her eyes flicked twice to the ventilator set aside in the room.

Grace made breakfast for both he and Luther that went mostly untouched, though they nursed the coffees she also brought. Diego was half way through his when he heard the front doors open. On instinct one of his hands wandered to rest over the hilt of one of his knives, but the footsteps getting closer to them were light and confident, belonging to Five; and sure enough it was him who entered the infirmary. Luther stood up upon seeing him; Diego didn’t bother.

“So?” Asked Luther, glancing over Five’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“Found Harold Jenkins,” said Five. “He’s dead.”

“Really?” Asked Diego, eyebrows raised.

“Dead before I even got there. Quite brutal, too. I don’t know who killed him.”

“Shit,” breathed Diego, slumping against his seat. “Seriously? What about Vanya?”

“Seriously,” confirmed Five. “And Vanya wasn’t there. She must have gotten away from whoever killed Harold; I would have guessed she’d be making her way back to the Academy, so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Great,” muttered Diego, dragging a hand down his face. Five clicked his tongue.

“Anything happen here?” He asked.

“Allison woke up,” said Luther. “For a few minutes.”

Nodding, Five said, “good. Klaus?”

“Nothing.” Diego glanced back at him. The blanket had fallen down again and he reached out to fix it once more. Five pursed his lips, thoughtful.

“If Harold Jenkins is dead,” said Luther, raising his voice and cutting through Five’s thoughts. “Does this mean the apocalypse is – done? It’s averted? You said he caused it, and if he’s dead, then…”

“That’s what I’d assume.” Five nodded, but his eyebrows furrowed and he stuck his hands inside his pockets.

“_Assume_,” echoed Diego.

“It feels too easy,” he muttered. “I was carrying about that prosthetic eyes for decades and he’s just dead, like that, and I didn’t even kill him.”

Diego shrugged. “I wouldn’t complain.”

Five took several moments before he responded. “I’m not. It just feels too easy.” He turned on his heels, facing the doorway. “I’ll be in the living room.”

It did feel too easy, Diego thought. It felt as if he hadn’t done a thing at all in the face of the world ending, and somehow it had just averted itself. But if that was the case, then there was nothing else to be done about it.

Diego felt like he was letting himself breathe too early. Letting himself get too comfortable. But he didn’t know how else the apocalypse was supposed to happen if, according to Five, getting rid of Harold would avert it, and Harold had been taken care of.

Allison woke for longer the second time. With Luther’s help, she sat upright, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed, and her gaze fell on Klaus. Her lips parted before she remembered she couldn’t speak and Diego grimaced. With her hands on the mattress to steady herself, she couldn’t write whatever it was that she wanted to say in the notebook, so she settled on raising her eyebrows questioningly at Diego.

“He’s still resting,” he said, assuming it was about Klaus. “Mom checked on him not long ago. It, uh.” Once more, he found himself looking over to Luther, sharing their hesitation before Diego finally just said it. “It could get bad,” he said, deciding to ignore the fact that it already was bad.

By the look on her face, Diego didn’t need to expand. She frowned, then stood up. Luther helped her come over to Klaus’ bedside and she simply stood, looking down at Klaus with a conflicted expression, and then she curled her fingers around his. She stood like that for several minutes before she began to sink a little, legs trembling, and so Luther wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Come on, you need to lay down. We can go to your room; it’s probably more comfortable there than in here,” he offered, and for a moment Allison simply tightened her grip on Klaus’ limp hand, face screwing up, but eventually she had to let go and she nodded and allowed Luther to help her up to her bedroom.

Looking at Klaus’ hand that Allison had been holding, Diego thought for a moment. “We can do better,” he muttered, moving to look at his face. “But you gotta be there for that.”

It only took a near-death experience for one sibling and an amputation for another for them to realise that maybe they did care about one another, he thought.

###

Five entered the infirmary carrying a mannequin tucked under one arm and two guns in the other. He dropped the two on Allison’s now empty bed and turned to Diego.

“Those are Hazel and Cha-Cha’s guns,” he announced. “They can clear your name about the murder of your friend.”

His head snapped up at that. Eyes narrowing, he asked, “what?” He pretended his throat didn’t suddenly feel tight.

“Hazel came by. He’s leaving the Commission and he left those. They’ll clear your name.”

“Hazel was here?” He echoed, incredulous and wide-eyed. The anger he had managed to distract himself from was suddenly there again and with a new energy to it; he couldn’t stop himself from rising abruptly to his feet and looking to the door.

“Well, he’s gone now, obviously,” Five said. “Going off to make some life for himself, apparently. Don’t know what became of Cha-Cha, but…” He trailed off, shrugging nonchalantly. “You got her gun. She shot your friend.”

Jaw ticking, Diego’s hands curled into tight fists. He had sworn to bring her justice, and Hazel had just walked the Academy freely, and Cha-Cha was still out there. He had gotten distracted because of –

Klaus.

Five was watching him curiously, he realised. “Are you going to try and kill them?” He asked.

Swallowing, Diego said, “it’s what I swore I’d do for her.”

Five tipped his head to the side, studying him, and then he looked down at that mannequin he was still holding. “What did you like about her?” He asked. As if it were a trick question, Diego narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

Giving him a look, Five repeated it. “What did you like about her?”

One answer wouldn’t be enough. “A lot of things,” he admitted. An endless list of things that flooded his mind suddenly and left his knees feeling weak and his chest feeling tight. But Five was still eying him as if he knew better than Diego, and so Diego said none of these things, these things that only he was allowed to know about Eudora and things his family weren’t allowed to know about him. Instead, he said, “cute butt. Nice legs.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Anything a little more profound than that?” He asked, and Diego grit his teeth and allowed himself to think about her; about why he had been in love with her.

“She believed in people,” he stated, and ignored the way his voice trembled slightly. “No matter how much shit and filth she saw on the streets. She saw the good in people.”

Five looked pleasantly surprised to hear Diego confide a little in him, and then he gave him another look; almost challenging. “Well,” he said. “I’m sure she’s glad to know you want to kill two people in her memory.”

With that, he began to step back towards the door, staring at his mannequin. He paused in the doorway and kept his back to Diego. “Wear gloves if you take those guns to the police, obviously. Hazel wants to make a fresh start for himself, and he brought something that could do a little good for our family. Maybe it’s time to move on, Diego. Think about what you’re doing.”

And then he was gone, leaving him reeling in the aftermath of his words.

Diego stared at the guns on the bed; the ones used to murder Eudora, because he had convinced her to try things out his way and he hadn’t been there to give her back-up.

He had sworn Hazel and Cha-Cha would pay for killing her. He had every intention of going after them and hunting them down.

As Diego set his harness and knives aside to pull a pair of gloves on, Grace administered another dose of painkillers for Klaus and smiled at him. “Don’t be long, dear,” she said. “I’ll watch your brother. I’m proud of you.”

His eyes stung, suddenly, and his throat was tight, but Diego took the guns. They sat on the passenger’s seat of his car, and then he all but slammed them down onto the nearest desk he reached in the police station.

“Run ballistics,” he hissed. “And try and fucking tell me I murdered her.”

It took a while, of course, before they actually got the results that cleared him, and the mess that came with wondering how Diego got the guns in the first place, but they cleared his name and that was all they needed to do.

He didn’t know why he expected to feel relieved after it. Sitting in the car before he drove back, he didn’t feel relieved, per say. Perhaps like a weight had been lifted off his chest that he never knew had been there in the first place, and suddenly everything was too much.

His fists pounded against his steering wheel and he tried to convert whatever it was he was feeling – this grief, this sadness – into anger, something he could be familiar with, but it won out in the end. He slumped forwards to rest his forehead against the steering wheel and a sob left his lips.

###

The Academy felt nearly empty when he finally returned, feeling exhausted and drained. His footsteps echoed a little too loudly, the emptiness seemed a little too pronounced. Something felt _wrong_.

With cautious steps, Diego walked towards the infirmary, but when he poked his head inside he saw Klaus still in bed, with Grace sitting by his side and holding one of his hands in hers. He paused at the sight, hovering in the doorway. Grace was speaking, her voice quiet. When he strained to listen, Diego realised that she was retelling a story she used to tell them as children when they couldn’t sleep or when they had nightmares.

Diego’s heart felt heavy. Cautious, as if afraid to impose and shatter this moment between them, he stepped inside as quietly as he could and took the seat opposite Grace, on Klaus’ other side. Grace didn’t even look up at him; her thumb ran over Klaus’ knuckles and she wore a softer smile than usual, warm eyes on his face as she spoke.

Klaus looked as if he was still asleep, and he had no way of telling whether or not he had woken up whilst he was gone talking to the police for so long, but he thought he could see Klaus’ fingers twitch slightly, curling tighter around Grace’s.

Diego sunk into his chair and listened to her story.

At the end of her story, Diego asked, “how is he?”

Not looking up from Klaus, Grace said, “he always was such a rambunctious child.”

“Mom?”

“I think tomorrow I’ll move him onto the ventilator,” she continued, not listening to Diego. “If his breathing and oxygen rate doesn’t improve. He always hated being in the infirmary. Poor thing.”

Throat tight, Diego silently watched Grace, almost wishing she would stop talking. Instead, Grace began to tell another story.

###

There was something shaking.

It took him several moments to realise this, at first believing his mind must be playing a trick on him. When it indeed was not the wind howling suspiciously loudly outside but instead the sound of trembling rocks, and that the floor beneath his feet indeed was trembling, Diego rose abruptly to his feet.

“Mom? Do you – do you feel that?”

Grace blinked, smiling. “Feel what, dear?”

Diego opened his mouth to respond and was promptly cut off by the sound of an explosion.

“Oh, dear,” said Grace, rising to her feet and wiping down her skirt. “Don’t they know to keep all the noise down? Klaus is trying to rest.”

“I don’t think they’re doing that on purpose,” Diego muttered, staring out into the hallway. He was shaken out of his daze when Grace began to walk out of the infirmary, and he hurried after her, calling, “Mom, wait!”

The sounds were coming from downstairs. Diego wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he should be going to check it out. Instead, he turned and tried to seek the others out, heading towards the bedrooms where he ran into Allison and Luther.

“What the hell’s going on?” He asked, wide-eyed.

“It’s Vanya,” said Luther.

“_What_?”

“Vanya has powers, and she’s doing this. We were waiting for Five to come back, but…”

An explosion, way too close to be comfortable.

“Fuck, alright, where’s Five, then?” Diego asked.

“No idea. Not here.”

Helpful, Diego thought sarcastically, but he didn’t have much longer to think about it because there was yet another explosion only just further down the corridor, and in unison all three of them turned and began to hurry away from it.

“We need to get out of here,” said Luther, raising his voice over the sound of crumbling walls.

“No shit,” Diego snorted, and Allison hit his shoulder. “Okay, let’s go – but we need to get Mom, and Pogo, and Klaus.” He paused slightly, pressing his lips together. “I don’t know where Mom or Pogo are anymore.”

“We’ll look for them,” said Luther. “You go get Klaus and get out – she’s bringing down the whole Academy.”

Diego nodded at that, able to stick to that plan, and quickly he began to run towards the infirmary. It was close to the sounds of utter destruction, too close for him to be comfortable, but he hoped if Vanya ended up coming this way then she would take the long way around it first.

He all but skidded into it, and then he hurried up to Klaus’ side and just – froze.

His brother was still unconscious, utterly oblivious to what was going on. He was trembling, his breathing arguably more ragged than that morning. He was curled up on the bed, skin a faintly blue hue, hooked up to oxygen and IVs and a pulse oximeter on his finger.

Diego had no fucking clue how he was going to get him out. And, suddenly, he realised he had no fucking clue if Klaus would make it without the medical attention, whilst being moved around violently.

An explosion from the direction of the living room made him startle and hurry. He pulled the pulse oximeter off and dropped it to the floor, and his hands, blessedly steady after years of training, began to gently but swiftly take apart the IVs, though the cannulas remained in his hands; Diego could sort them later. Then, reluctantly, he forced himself to slip off the nasal cannula delivering him with the extra oxygen he obviously desperately needed, and he began to try and shake him gently, but increasingly more urgent with each crash that violently shook the Academy.

“Klaus,” he hissed, shaking his shoulders. “Come on, bro, wake up-“

Klaus moaned; his face pinched and he squirmed weakly on the mattress and-

A piece of the roof above them fell. Diego cursed, acting quickly and tugging Klaus’ bed forwards, even if the piece of rubble that fell wasn’t in his way. Still, it landed too close to where he had been to be comfortable, and the consequential crumbs that fell after _did_ land on the bed.

He kept his hands on Klaus’ shoulders, trying to rouse him awake and praying he would be coherent, and he turned to look over his shoulder and froze.

Vanya stood in the doorway, staring at them with glowing white eyes. Her entire being seemed to glow faintly and he had to squint his eyes at her to see her properly.

“Vanya,” he said, turning to place himself firmly between her and Klaus. “Vanya, you need to stop-“

Her head twitched to the left, and Diego found himself flying through the air in the same direction, only stopping when he hit the wall and fell to the floor. He groaned, ribs aching fiercely, and slowly propped himself up to watch her step inside. He could see the hallway beyond her crumble as she left it.

“Vanya!” He croaked, watching her with wide eyes. He had no idea how she was managing to do all of this, but she didn’t seem as if she would stop any time soon, and it was obvious Diego needed to do something. Maybe Luther would come looking for them, would hear the commotion coming from here, and he could get Klaus out while he distracted Vanya, or maybe he would be able to restrain her, somehow.

Seeing him, however, only seemed to set Vanya off even more. The walls around them trembled more violently; dust and rocks fell loose and he subconsciously covered his head as another piece of the ceiling dropped somewhere nearby.

Klaus was still on that damn bed as if it was a silver platter, set up in the middle of the room, right across from Vanya.

“Vanya, you need to stop!” Diego yelled, using the wall to haul himself upright onto his knees. “Calm down-“

He cut himself off with a cry as rubble fell and this time, it landed over his legs. He fell back to the ground, momentarily blinded with pain, and when he could blink it away again he was pinned to the floor, rubble crushing his legs. Vanya looked on without any emotion on her face, as if she wasn’t really seeing him. Or maybe she just truly didn’t care.

Diego, while trying desperately to push the rubble off his legs just enough to drag himself out from under it, but unsuccessful in doing so alone, opened his mouth to yell for her again, but someone beat him to it.

“M-Mom?”

Diego froze, blood running cold.

On the bed, Klaus had roused from his half-conscious state, enough so to lift his head off the bed and stare around him with half-lidded, feverish eyes. One of his hands flailed out in Vanya’s direction, whom was now staring intently at him, but fell limp over the bedrail.

“V-Van? Vanya, please,” croaked Klaus, gasping. His head fell back onto the dusty pillow on his bed and he writhed on the mattress slightly. “I can’t – I can’t breathe, please…”

“Don’t look at him!” Diego yelled, struggling harder now with desperation as Vanya took slow steps closer and closer to Klaus. “Leave him alone! Vanya!”

Blind to everything going on around him, Klaus stared straight through her. “Please,” he continued to moan terribly. “I – I can’t… where’s – Dave? I need… please…”

“Vanya, _please_!” Diego called, resorting to pleading now, helplessly stuck to watch the walls tremble around them and watch as she got closer and closer to Klaus and seemed to shine brighter and brighter. She stopped by his bedside and, seeming to realise someone was near him, he tried to reach out with his hand hanging over the edge of the bed again.

“_Vanya_!”

Startling, Diego turned to look towards the doorway. Clambering over rocks was Five, eyes wide, and behind him was Luther, and trailing further behind was Allison.

It was hard to look at her now, so blindingly bright, but then Klaus’ hand reached out and grabbed hers and-

A ripple of energy that felt like a large electric shock ran through him, Vanya’s energy pulsing from her when Klaus held her hand; it unsettled rocks and made the remnants of the Academy groan around them; outside of the room they were all in, now, he heard a deafening crash as over walls and parts of the Academy fell apart.

Vanya looked normal now, standing with her hand in Klaus’, her eyes wide.

Klaus’ eyes had gone glossy and unseeing, his lips still moving in a begging mantra, though it was evident he no longer knew where he was or what was happening or what he was even saying, if he ever had in the first place.

“Vanya,” Five gasped, holding his hands out to keep Allison and Luther back. Klaus’ hand fell from Vanya’s, hanging limp and twitching in the air, and she spun around to face Five. Her eyes blew wide and she held her hands up, mouth dropping open as she struggled to find words. Five held out a hand; raised his eyebrows. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Vanya. Just stay calm, it’s okay.”

Slowly, he inched forwards, and then he nudged Luther and pointed at Diego, still trapped underneath a slab of rubble. Hesitant, Luther came over to his side, gaze still on their sister as Five approached her, but he lifted the rubble pinning Diego down with ease. Relief flooded him and he pulled himself away from it, and Luther helped him up onto his feet, and then continued to hold him upright when his knees buckled. It didn’t feel as if they were broken, at least, but they hurt like hell.

“I didn’t-“ Stammered Vanya. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“It’s okay,” said Five. “You didn’t know you could do any of this. You didn’t mean to – it’s alright.”

Vanya continued to look around them all, wide-eyed, stuttering, until Allison shoved her way around Five and enveloped her in a sudden, crushing hug. Then Vanya let out a sob and clung to her.

“Klaus?” Asked Luther, after several moments of them hovering awkwardly as Vanya and Allison hugged, seeming to have a conversation conveyed in silent motions that they weren’t in on, but they parted suddenly when he spoke up. All of them turned quickly to face their brother and Diego felt his heart leap into his throat.

His chapped lips continued to wheeze for air, continued to move around silent pleas for something – for help, for someone they didn’t know – but his eyelids were fluttering and when they were open his eyes didn’t focus on anything. Hobbling forwards, Diego gently took his hand hanging over the edge of the bed, squeezing it and ducking down into his brother’s line of sight, though received no reaction.

“Where’s Mom?” He asked, turning to look at Luther and Allison. “We – we need her, now-“

Luther shook his head. “We couldn’t get to her, Diego,” he said, voice surprisingly soft, and Diego’s stomach dropped.

“No,” he said, looking out over the ruins beyond the poorly standing walls around them. “No.”

“I’m – I’m sorry, we couldn’t get to her. We were too late, Diego. I’m sorry.”

“N-No,” he could only repeat, horror and disbelief making his guts writhe painfully. “She – she can’t be – we n-need her here-“

He turned his wide-eyes to Klaus again. The medical equipment around them was destroyed, and Grace was nowhere to be seen – not there at all – and first was Eudora, then Grace, and Klaus wouldn’t be too far after them. He couldn’t protect a single one of them.

“Five?”

Five was looking elsewhere, all of a sudden. His gaze pointed to the dull sky above them, covered in a layer of ash and dust rising from the still unsettled ruins of the Academy, and above that, a shattered moon crumbling apart in space.

“Five, what’s-“

“Shit,” said Five, watching the sky carefully with narrowed eyes. “This – this is the apocalypse,” he suddenly said. “This is what caused the apocalypse.”

“What?” Vanya blurted, eyes wide. Five looked between her and the sky.

“God, I’m so stupid,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “Obviously! Your powers caused the apocalypse; the first time around, this happened, maybe in a worse situation, but it resulted in this happening anyway.”

“So we-we’re g-gonna die,” said Diego, watching as a piece of the broken moon seemed to grow larger and larger. His body felt numb; he sunk to the ground, still with one hand holding Klaus’. Klaus’ eyes fell closed. Luther stumbled, and Allison’s face dropped, and Vanya looked horrified.

For several moments, no one said a thing. Diego could only think about Eudora, face peaceful, surrounded by blood; and Grace, smiling despite being crushed to death underneath the Academy she had been trapped inside forever; and Klaus.

“No,” said Five, suddenly sounding determined. “No, we’re not.”

“_How_?” Croaked Diego. They must have a minute at most, he thought, before that piece of the moon crashed into them and destroyed them all.

With his face set, Five lifted his head a little and announced, “I can stop this. I can send us all back in time – I can stop this all from happening.”

Something crossed his face, then. Something he wasn’t telling them. But time was running out.

“Can you do that with all of us?” Asked Luther, not looking convinced.

“Do you want to choose the other option?” Retorted Five, pointing at the sky. Luther shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m in,” Diego said, not sounding as confident as he wanted to. He forced himself onto his feet again. “How?”

Five swallowed, looking amongst them all, and then he put one hand on Klaus’ shoulder, took Vanya’s hand in his other. “Hold onto each other,” he said, and only once they had all joined hands did his expression tighten further. “Just… trust me,” he added, as if that was easy for any of them to do with one another. But they had no other choice, and the moon was getting closer, and his legs trembled painfully, and –

He was being torn apart and mashed together and thrown around –

It felt as if he was being hit by a car, really, but if the car went _through_ him and he could feel it all, and then –

* * *

It was hot.

He hit the ground heavily, groaning and dizzy and feeling nauseous. He heard several other moans of discomfort and confusion, and when he could see through the stars in his vision, he saw his siblings all sitting up on the dirty ground slowly.

Except for Klaus. Because Klaus was nowhere to be seen.

A sun bore down on them, blinding and hot, suffocating him in his sweater already.

“Five?” He called, voice wavering as if his body was still piecing itself back together. “Where the fuck are we?”

Five, looking half-nauseous and half-giddy that they were alive, said, “I have a vague idea.”

“This isn’t – Five, this isn’t the Academy,” stated Luther.

“No,” said Five, and he heaved himself up onto his feet, swaying tremendously as he did so. “It’s not. Come on, there’s a village just down there.”

“Village?” Echoed Vanya.

Raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Diego spotted what Five was talking about; a cluster of buildings that were decidedly not the Academy; not even the city the Academy was in.

And, as Diego realised once they finally got closer to it, not even the same country as the Academy.

“Five,” he muttered under his breath, limping over to his side. “What the fuck?”

“Where are we, Five?” Asked Vanya, looking around the unfamiliar streets and ignoring the looks they were getting.

“We should sit down,” said Five, and though that idea sounded like heaven to Diego, his legs surely not being able to go on much further, there were pressing matters; like both where and when they were, and-

“Where’s Klaus?”

Pressing his lips together, Five came to a short wall lining a garden of one building, and he sat upon it. Diego was quick to follow suit, sighing at the relief for his legs.

“I’d say we’re in nineteen-sixty-eight,” said Five, looking around the place with narrowed eyes.

“Okay, great, why?”

A bus groaned down the road, wheels squeaking as it stopped. The door slid open; the windows were covered in dust.

“Because,” Five murmured, watching the bus intently. Uniformed soldiers began to pour off it, stretching their legs and looking ecstatic to get out. “I said I could stop all of it.”

One soldier stepped off the bus and held his hand out to the last one to get off.

Diego’s jaw dropped as Klaus, clad in an army uniform with a rifle in one hand, stepped off the bus. He landed with a limp, grimacing and wobbling on two legs, and then he smiled at the other soldier, brighter than Diego has ever seen him smile before, and limped after the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : )  
Please let me know what you thought!! I'd love to hear it!! Thank you all for reading <3


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